Willow Clump Island.

The next day we tried the sails and it didn't take me very long to learn
how to steer the device. The wind had changed again and this time blew up
the canal. We took the line of least resistance, and went skimming up the
ice lane like birds for several miles before we realized how far we were
getting away from home. As we rounded a bend in the canal, much to my
astonishment, I saw just before us the bridge at Raven Hill, eight miles
from our town. We started to go back, but the wind was too strong for us,
and there wasn't much room in which to do any tacking; nor could we make
any progress when the sails were folded. I began to get extremely tired
and rather exasperated at Bill for not having thought of the return trip
before he led me such a hot pace up the canal. But Bill was getting tired,
too.

"Look here, Jim," he said, "we haven't covered a mile, and I'm worn out."

"Why in thunder didn't you think of this before we started?" I returned.

"How much money have you with you?" was the reply.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. How much have you?"

A careful search of my dozen odd pockets netted the sum of twenty-seven
cents.