sky.

About six o'clock Simes Badger pushed off his boat from the light-house
dock, leaving his assistant in charge.

"I must get my breakfast," he said.

He leisurely rowed up the river.

"Ah," thought Simes, "there is Skipper Wentworth's new craft. She sets
easy in the water. She will make as trim a fore and aft as ever left this
harbor."

He was now opposite the newly-painted black and green hull.

"Massy!" he exclaimed, resting on his oars, "What's that on deck? A hen
there? Somebody is wavin' suthin'. Something must be wrong there. Let me
take a nearer look."

He rowed close up to the vessel's side, and there detained his boat in the
still, sparkling stream, raised his weather-tanned face, and saw a very
fresh, boyish face looking down.

"O, Mr. Badger, come and get me!"

"Wort Wentworth, is that _you?_"

Simes knew that Wort had a reputation for scrapes, but was not prepared
for this appearance under the present circumstances.