"It's a duck!" said Ed Mason.

"Of course it's a duck," replied Pete, "we got him at Duck Island,
too. It's Simon. Can you reach him, Warren?"

"I think so," answered Sprague, "easy now!"

Pete brought the yacht carefully alongside the duck, Sprague
twined one foot around the bob-stay, reached over and lifted the
bird into the boat. As soon as it was set on deck the duck shook
its feathers, gave one defiant waggle of the tail, and paddled
aft, remarking: "Quack! quack! qua-a-a-ck!"

"Well! Simon, old man!" said the delighted Pete, "did you think we
had left you behind? You didn't think that of us, did you? But you
had started out to overtake us, hadn't you? That shows what a good
old sport you are. The Chief might have left you in the lurch, but
your Uncle Warren and I wouldn't."

Simon waddled about a little, and finally settled down in the
center of a coil of rope. Once more we turned and started again on
our flight from Bailey's Harbor.

It was a beautiful night. The moonlight sparkled on the water, and
shone clear and soft on the sails of the boat. The breeze was cool
and delicious. Gregory the Gauger had stopped thumping and
everything was very pleasant and restful after the jail, and the
other exciting events of the night. Except for the sound of the
water at the bow, we sailed for five or ten minutes in perfect
silence. My eyes half closed and my head fell forward as I sat in