longer. Papa said at breakfast that he thought we ought to try a new fishing-place.”

“My, but he loves to fish, doesn’t he?” laughed Chub, as he raised the curtains and let the sunlight in. “Any mail this morning?”

“Not a bit,” answered Harry. “Let’s take that list, Chub, and get the things together we’re to take back to the boat.”

“All right. I wonder what I did with it. If I’ve gone and lost it—no, here it is. Kerosene—hello!”

“What?” cried Harry.

Chub pointed to the counter half-way down the store. One glance was sufficient for Harry. With a cry of alarm, she darted to the money-drawer and pulled it open.

“Oh, Chub!” she wailed despairingly.

The till was empty.