ashore on the last evening, he and his mate spent an hour or two engaged in some mysterious occupation at the Santo boat-house. They requisitioned a saw, a hammer, tacks, part of an old sheet, a five-cent paint-brush, and some paint. Then they were quiet for a while, working away by the aid of a lantern.

After a while Tony saw them and approached.

"Don't come here yet, Dad," urged George.

"What are you two young conspirators up to now?" asked the boat-builder.

"We're artists, Dad," replied George, chuckling. And then they were quiet again.

"There," said Jack at length. "How's that?"

"It'll fetch them, all right," commented the mate of the Sea-Lark, with complete satisfaction.

It was a perfect summer morning when Holden's Ferry came into being. The lightest of breezes came in from the south, leaving a bare ripple on the placid water of Greenport harbor. The townsfolk were only just beginning to be astir when two figures emerged from the