A sudden thought struck Phil, and he called back Brandon.

"What's wanted now?" asked the latter impatiently.

"I want you to give me a bill of sale of the boat," said Phil.

"What's the use of that?"

"I don't want Grit to charge me with taking his boat without leave."

"Oh, bother! it's all right. I haven't got any paper," said Brandon, who was anxious to reach the tavern, and take his morning dram.

"I have," said Phil promptly, as he drew out a small note-book and tore out a leaf, which he handed, with a pencil, to Brandon.

"What do you want me to write?" asked the latter.

Phil dictated a form, which Brandon wrote down and signed.

"Will that do?" he asked.

"Yes, that will do. Now I am all right, and the boat is mine in spite of all Grit may say."

"I have made a good bargain," said Phil, to himself, complacently. "This boat is worth at least twice what I have paid for it. I will get it painted, and a new name for it, and it will pass for a new boat. Won't Grit be mad when he hears what his stepfather has done?"

This was, on the whole, the pleasantest reflection connected with the purchase. It was not creditable to Phil to cherish such malice against a boy, simply because he would not treat him with as much deference as he expected; but human nature is often betrayed into petty meannesses, and Phil was a very human boy, so far, at least, as such traits were concerned.

We now come back to Grit, who stood on the river's bank in perplexity, when he discovered that his boat had been abstracted.

"Who can have taken it?" he thought.

Here he felt quite at a loss. It did not occur to him that his stepfather had had anything to do with his boat, for he could not understand of what advantage it would be to him. He did not comprehend fully, however, how serious the loss was likely to prove, since it took away his means of living.

He stooped over and examined the rope. Clearly, it had been cut, and this showed that the boat had been taken by some unauthorized person.

"I can't understand who would serve me such a trick," thought Grit. "I don't know that I have any enemies."

But at this point he could not help thinking of Phil Courtney, who, if not an enemy, was certainly not a friend.

"Is it possible that Phil would play me such a trick?" he asked himself. "No; he would think too much of himself. He would not condescend to do such a thing."

Grit walked up and down along the river bank, looking here and there to see if anywhere he could descry his boat. At length he saw a boat, but the boat was not his. It belonged to Jesse Burns, the son of the postmaster, and was of about the same size and build as his own.

"Jesse!" he called out, putting his hands to his mouth to increase the volume of sound.

Jesse heard the call, and rowed toward where Grit was standing.

"What is it, Grit?"

"My boat has been taken, and I don't know what has become of it."

"Is that so?" asked Jesse, in surprise. "Why, I saw Phil Courtney out on the river with it. I passed him only fifteen minutes since. I thought you had let it to him."

"Phil Courtney!" exclaimed Grit, angry and surprised. "I didn't think he would take it without leave."

"Did he?"

"Yes, I found the rope cut."

"That doesn't seem like Phil. He's mean enough to do anything, but I didn't think he would do that."

"Nor I. I'll give him a good piece of my mind when we meet. Where did you meet him?"

"Just above Glen Cove."

"Do me a favor, Jesse. Take me into your boat, and row me up there, so that I may meet him, and recover my boat."

"All right, Grit. I'm very glad to do you a favor."

"Are you sure it is my boat Phil had?" asked Grit, still unwilling to believe that Phil had deliberately taken his boat.

"Yes, I know your boat as well as my own. Besides, there was the name, Water Lily, on it, as plain as day. There is no doubt about it."

"Well," said Grit, closing his lips firmly, "all I can say is, I'll make him pay for the use of the boat, or there'll be trouble."

"You won't challenge him, will you, Grit?" asked Jesse, smiling.

"That's just what I will do. I should be justified in thrashing him, without notice, but I will give him a chance to defend himself."

"If you want a second, call on me," said Jesse. "I don't like Phil any better than you do, and I shan't object to seeing his pride humbled. It's bad for your business, having the boat taken."

"Yes, I shall lose the chance of two passengers who wanted to go across to Portville an hour from now."

"You may use my boat for that, Grit."

"Thank you, Jesse; I should like to, if I don't get back my own. Did you speak to Phil?"

"No. I said 'good morning,' but, with his usual politeness, he only gave a slight nod, and did not answer. I wanted to ask him how it happened that he was using your boat so early in the morning, but, you see, I got no chance."

"It is queer. I can't guess what he will have to say for himself."

"There he is now!" said Jesse suddenly, looking up the river.

"Where?"

"Don't you see? He is rowing this way. His back is turned, and he hasn't seen us yet."

Yes, it was Phil. He had enjoyed a good row, and now was on his return course. He was rowing slowly and lazily, as if fatigued.

"You will soon hear what he has to say, Grit," said Jesse.

At that moment Phil chanced to turn round, and he saw and recognized the boys that were approaching him. He did not, however, seem confused or embarrassed; neither did he change his course. He merely smiled, and continued to row toward his pursuers.

"He sees us, and still he comes on. There's cheek for you!" ejaculated Jesse.

Grit said nothing, but his mouth closed firmly, and his eyes sparkled with anger. He waited till Phil was within earshot, and then he demanded sternly:

"What are you doing there with my boat, Phil Courtney?"

Phil would have resented Grit's tone, but he gloated over the triumphant answer he was able to make, and thought he would tantalize Grit a little.

"To what boat do you allude?" he asked, in a nonchalant tone.

"To what boat do I allude?" repeated Grit, provoked. "I allude to my boat, in which you are rowing."

"You are mistaken," said Phil composedly. "I am rowing in my own boat."

"Isn't that the Water Lily?" asked Jesse, coming to the help of his friend.

"It is at present. I shall change the name for one I like better."

"Look here, Phil Courtney!" said Grit indignantly, "this is carrying the joke a little too far. You have taken my boat without leave or license from me, and now you actually claim it as your own. Do you mean to say that isn't the boat I have been rowing on this river for the last year?"

"I never said it wasn't."

"Isn't it the boat in which I carried you across the river yesterday?"

"Of course."

"Then what business had you to cut the rope and carry it off?"

"I didn't."

"Then how did you come by it?"

"I bought it!"

"Bought it!" exclaimed Grit and Jesse simultaneously.

"Yes, I bought it, and it is mine," continued Phil, with a smile of triumph. "It's just as much mine to-day as it was yours yesterday."

"I never sold it to you," said Grit, perplexed.

"No, but your stepfather, Mr. Brandon, did. If the rope was cut, he cut it."

"Can you prove this, Phil Courtney?" asked Grit.

"If you will row up alongside, I will satisfy your curiosity."

Jesse pulled his boat alongside, and Phil drew from his vest pocket a paper and handed it to Grit.

"Read that," he said.

Grit read as follows:

"In consideration of five dollars, to me paid, I make over and sell the boat called the Water Lily to Philip Courtney.

Nathan Brandon."

"There!" said Philip triumphantly, "what have you to say now?"