It was a long time before the three got permission to go, but their evident determination, and their continual “keeping at it,” aided by Mr. Ransom’s support, finally brought success. All this time the four worked like beavers. The planking was completed, the cabin laid out and built, the deck laid, and the cockpit floored.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Kenneth exclaimed one day. “I never thought—how are we going to get her down to the water?”
Immediately the noise of hammer and saw, the dull clap of wood, and the sharp ring of iron ceased, and all four stood open-mouthed, speechless.
“Why, it’s a good three-quarters of a mile to the nearest water,” gasped Frank.
“And think of that hill down to the ravine between,” added Clyde.
“She must weigh three tons,” wailed Arthur.
“Oh, I guess Johnson, the house mover, will do it,” Kenneth suggested. “Let’s go and see him.” But Johnson wanted a prohibitive price for moving the boat to the launching ways, so the crew decided to tackle the job themselves.
Then the trouble began. The sides of the shop had to come down to allow the yawl to be moved out, and a truck had to be built that would safely bear the great weight.
Despite all, however, the boat was finally loaded, and under the eyes of all the townspeople who could get away from their work, the first stage of their journey began.
All went well for a time. A sturdy team was hitched to the wheeled truck, and the progress over the first part of the smooth, level road was easy. Passers-by were apt to quote passages about “sailing the raging meadows,” and about young tars who preferred to do their sailing ashore. But Ransom and his friends were good-natured and too busy to heed anything but the overland trip of their precious craft.