Luckily Betty managed to stumble directly on the old derelict rowboat
where it lay in ancient helplessness in the concealment of a thick grove
of bushes along the upper reach of the stream.

"Goody! This is almost too much luck," cried Betty exultantly. "You get in
the stern, Amy, and Grace in the bow. Mollie and I will do the rowing."

"I only hope the old thing doesn't take in too much water," said Amy, as
she and Grace got gingerly into the rickety old craft and Betty and Mollie
pushed it off from the shore.

"That remains to be seen," answered the Little Captain as she handed one
of the ancient oars to Mollie. "There is one thing we shall have to
remember, Mollie," she said, as they pushed clear of the bank and glided
out into the swift water of the river, "and that is to keep far enough
this side of the falls to guard against being swept over it. Bear hard on
your right hand, Mollie honey. It wouldn't be much fun if we upset here,
you know."

"Oh!" gasped Grace, holding fast to the side of the boat and noting with
dismay how plainly the roar of the falls came to them. "I wish we had
another oar, I'd help----"

"You can help most, Grade," cut in the Little Captain briskly, "by keeping
your nerve and helping us to keep ours. Mollie," she called in a whisper
that carried the length of the boat, "can you see--It--yet?"

"Yes," Mollie telegraphed back in the same tense whisper. "It's got its
back to us, I think."