But by this time Betty had reached the wheel, and twirled it rapidly.
She was only just in time, and the Gem fairly grazed the canoe, the
wash from the propeller rocking it dangerously.

"We beg your pardon!" called Betty to the young man in the frail
craft.

"That's all right," he said, pleasantly. "It was my own fault."

"Thank you," spoke Amy, gratefully. "Here, Bet, I don't want to steer
any more."

"No, keep the wheel. You may as well learn, and I'll stand by you. No
telling when you may have to steer all alone."

They stopped for lunch in a pretty little grove, and sat and talked
for an hour afterward. Mollie hunted up a telephone and got into
communication with her house. She came back looking rather sober.

"The specialist says Dodo will have to undergo an operation," she
reported. Grace gasped, and the others looked worried.

"It isn't serious," continued Mollie, "and he says she will surely be
better after it. But of course mamma feels dreadful about it."

"I should think so," observed Betty. "They never found out who those
mean autoists were, did they?"

"No," answered Grace, "and we've never gotten a trace of Prince, or
the missing papers. Papa is much worried."