up the oars and us too. They weigh a ton."

"Pile in," answered Jerry, with the first laugh since that tragic
moment when he had seen a different boat swept over the dam many
weary miles up the river. "We'll each take an oar and try some two-
handed rowing. This craft was built for ocean-going service. Hold
tight; we're off."

But they weren't. Jerry's mighty push ended in a grunt. "Come on;
get out here and shove."

"Maybe if we took the oars out we could start her," Dave jibed. "I
hope you've got a freight-hauling license."

"Get out and push. Your witty remarks are about as light as those
young tree-trunks we have for paddles. All together now!" as Dave
bent over beside him. A lurch, a grinding, thumping slide, and the
flat-boat slid free of shore.

"It's a mighty good thing if that man isn't on the island," remarked
Dave as he took up his half of the propelling mechanism. "Because
when our craft took the water she certainly did 'wake the echoes of
yon wooded glen,' as the poet says."

"Poetry's got nothing to do with this boat. It doesn't rhyme with
anything but blisters. Let's see if we can move her."

Thanks to some tremendous tugging, the flat-boat moved slowly out
from shore. Inch by inch, it seemed, they gained on the current.