"Miss Nestor!" blurted out Tom, more surprised evidently to see
his acquaintance of the runaway again than she was at beholding
him. "I didn't know you ran a motor-boat," he added. "I don't,"
said she simply and helplessly. "That's the trouble, it won't
run."

"How comes it that you are up here?" went on Tom.

"I am stopping with friends, who have a cottage near the Lakeview
Hotel. They have a motor-boat and I got Dick Blythe--he's the
owner of this--to show me how to run it. I thought I knew, and I
started out a little while ago. At first it went beautifully, but
a few minutes ago it blew up, or--or something dreadful
happened."

"Nothing very dreadful, I guess," Tom assured her. "I think I can
fix it." He got into the other boat and soon saw what the trouble
was. The carburetor had gotten out of adjustment and the gasoline
was not feeding properly. The young inventor soon had it in
order, and, testing the motor, found that it worked perfectly.

"Oh, I can't thank you enough," cried Miss Nestor with a flash
from her brown eyes that made Tom's heart beat double time. "I
was afraid I had damaged the boat, and I knew Dick, who is a sort
of second cousin of mine, would never forgive me."

"There's no harm done," Tom assured her. "But you had better keep
near us on your way back, that is, if you are going back."

"Oh, indeed I am. I was frightened when I found I'd come so far