"There's no use trying to thank you and your father," he said. "If you'd given us some little thing we could thank you, but it seems silly to say just the same thing when we have a thing like this given to us, and yet it seems worse for us to go away without saying anything. I guess you know what I mean."
"You must promise to be careful—can you all swim?"
"We are scouts," laughed Roy.
"And that means you can do anything, I suppose."
"No, not that," Roy answered, "but we do want to tell you how much we thank you—you and your father."
"Especially you," put in Pee-wee.
She smiled, a pretty wistful smile, and her eyes glistened. "You did more for me," she said, "you got my bird back. I care more for that bird than I could ever care for any boat. My brother brought it to me from Costa Rica."
She stepped back to the auto. The chauffeur was already in his place, and the two men were coiling up their ropes and piling the heavy planks and rollers on board the truck. The freshly painted boat was growing dim in the gathering darkness and the lordly hills across the river were paling into gray again. As the little group paused, a deep, melodious whistle re-echoed from the towering heights and the great night boat came into view, her lights aloft, plowing up midstream. The Good Turn bobbed humbly like a good subject as the mighty white giant passed. The girl watched the big steamer wistfully and for a moment no one spoke.
"Was your brother—fond of traveling?" Roy ventured.
"Yes, he was crazy for it," she answered, "and you can't bring him back as you brought my bird back—you can't do everything after all."