“There! What did I tell you!” cried Dot, pointing a finger at the strange sight. “I heard a noise, and then it was a sneeze and then it was a bleat and then I smelled a goat. I knew it was a goat, and it is, and it’s Sammy Pinkney, too!”

And, surely enough, it was. Tousled and disheveled, dirty and with his clothes awry, there stood the urchin who was, it seemed, continually getting into mischief at or around the Corner House.

But if Sammy was mussed up because of having been hidden in a small closet, the goat did not appear to be any the worse for his misadventure. Billy Bumps was as fresh as a daisy, and suddenly he lowered his head and made a dive for Mr. Howbridge.

“Oh!” cried Ruth. “Look out!”

“Hold him!” yelled Agnes.

Neale, who had joined the wondering throng now gazing at the stowaway, caught the goat by the animal’s collar just in time, and held him back from butting the lawyer.

“He—he’s just a little excited like,” Sammy explained.

“Well, I should think he would be!” declared Ruth, taking command of the situation, as she often had to do where Sammy was concerned. “And now what do you mean, hiding yourself and Billy Bumps on the boat?” she demanded. “Why did you do it? And why, above all things, bring the goat?”

“’Cause I knew you wouldn’t let me come any other way,” Sammy answered. “I wanted to go houseboating awful bad, but I didn’t think you’d take me and Billy. So this morning, when you was packing up, me and him came down here and we got on board. I hid us in a closet, and we was going to stay there until night and then maybe you’d be so far away you couldn’t send us back. But something tickled my nose and I sneezed, and I guess Billy thought I was sneezing at him, for he bleated and then he butted his head against the door and it came open and—and—”

But Sammy really had to stop—he was out of breath.

“Well, of all things!” cried Agnes.

“It is rather remarkable,” agreed Mr. Howbridge. “I don’t know that I ever before had to deal with a stowaway. The question that’s puzzling me is, what shall we do with him?”

“Can’t me and Billy stay?” asked Sammy, catching drift of an objection to his presence on board.

“Of course not!” voiced Ruth. “What would your mother and father say?”

“Oh, they wouldn’t care,” Sammy said, easily enough and brightening visibly at the question. “They let me stay when I went with you on our auto tour.”

“They surely did,” remarked Agnes dryly.

“And Billy’s strong, too!” went on Sammy eagerly. “If one of the mules got sick he could help pull the boat.”

“The idea!” exclaimed Agnes.

“Oh, hello, Sammy!” called Tess, who had just heard of the discovery of the stowaway.

“Hello,” Sammy returned. “I’m here!”

They all laughed.

“Well,” said Mr. Howbridge at length, as the houseboat was slowly pulled along the canal by the mules driven by Hank, “we must get Sammy home somehow, though how is puzzling me.”

“Oh, please can’t I stay?” begged the boy. “You can send Billy home, of course. I don’t know why I brought him. But let me stay. I’m going to be a canal mule driver when I grow up, and I could begin now if you wanted me to.”

“Aren’t you going to be a pirate?” asked Agnes, for such had been Sammy’s desire for years.

“Yes, of course. But I’m going to be a canal mule driver first.”

“It’s out of the question,” said Ruth firmly. “It was very wrong of you to hide away on board, Sammy. Very wrong indeed! And it is going to be a great bother for us to send you and Billy Bumps back home, as we must do. Twice for the same trick is too often.”

“Aw, say, Ruthie, you might turn Billy Bumps loose here on the bank and let me stay,” pleaded Sammy. “Billy can take care of himself well enough.”

“Sammy Pinkney!” exclaimed Tess, her eyes blazing. “Turn our goat loose just because you brought him along when you know you had no business to do that! Sammy Pinkney, you are the very worst boy I ever heard of!”

Sammy looked rather frightened for the first time since being found on the boat, for, after all, he had an immense respect for the usually gentle Tess, and cared more for her good opinion than he did for that of her elders.

“I didn’t mean to be bad,” he whined. “I wanted to go along, that’s all.”

“But you wasn’t asked,” Tess insisted, pouting.

“But I wasn’t asked on that auto tour,” went on Sammy hopefully.

“Well, that was—was different,” stammered Tess. “Anyway, you had no right to talk about turning our goat loose. Why, somebody might steal him!”

“What shall we do?” Ruth appealed to Mr. Howbridge. “Can a boat turn around in the canal?”

“Not wide enough here,” volunteered Neale, looking from a window. “But we can when we get to the big waters, about five miles farther along.”

“It will not be necessary to turn about and go back,” said the lawyer. “I’ll have to make arrangements for some one either to take charge of our stowaway at the next large town, and keep him there until his father can come for him, or else I may see some one going back to Milton by whom we can return our interesting specimens,” and he included boy and goat in his glances.

“Well, I was afraid you’d send us back,” said Sammy with a sigh. “But could I stay to supper?” he asked, as he sniffed the appetizing odors that now seemed more completely to fill the interior of the Bluebird.

“Of course you may stay to supper, Sammy,” conceded Ruth. “And then we’ll see what’s to be done. Oh, what a boy you are!” and she had to laugh, though she did not want to.

“I was hoping Sammy could come,” murmured Dot, as she hugged her “Alice-doll.”

“And Billy Bumps is fun,” added Tess.

“We have no room here for goats, whether they are funny or not,” declared Agnes. “Take him out in front, on the lower deck, Sammy. Tie him there, and then wash yourself for supper. I should think you would have smothered in that closet.”

“I did, almost,” confessed the boy. “And Billy didn’t like it, either. But we wanted to come.”

“Too bad—young ambition nipped in the bud,” murmured Mr. Howbridge. “Take Billy outside, Sammy.”

The goat was rather frisky, and it required Neale and Sammy to tie him to the forward rail on the lower deck. Then Mrs. MacCall, in the kindness of her Scotch heart, sent the “beastie,” as she called him, some odds and ends of food, including beet tops from the kitchen, and Billy, at least, was happy.

“Low bridge!” suddenly came the call from Hank, up ahead with the two mules.

“What’s he saying?” asked Ruth to Mr. Howbridge.

“He’s giving warning that we are approaching a low bridge, and that if we stay on deck and hold our heads too high we may get bumped. Yes, there’s the bridge just ahead. I wonder if we can pass beneath it. Our houseboat is higher than a canal boat.”

The stream curved then, and gave a view of a white bridge spanning it. Hank had had the first glimpse of it. It was necessary for the occupants of the upper deck either to desert it, or to crouch down below the railing, and they did the former.

There was just room for the Bluebird to squeeze through under the bridge, and beyond it lay a good-sized town.

“I think I can get some one there to take Sammy home, together with Billy Bumps,” said Mr. Howbridge. “We’ll try after supper, and then we must see about tying up for the night.”

The houseboat attracted considerable attention as it was slowly drawn along the canal, which passed through the middle of the town. A stop was made while Mr. Howbridge instituted inquiries as to the possibility of sending Sammy back to Milton, and arrangements were made with a farmer who agreed to hitch up after supper and deliver the goat and the boy where they belonged.

“Well, anyhow, I’m glad I’m going to stay to supper,” said Sammy, extracting what joy he could from the situation that had turned against him.

The Bluebird came to rest at a pleasant place in the canal just outside the town, and there supper was served by Mrs. MacCall. A bountiful one it was, too, and after Hank had had his, apart from the others, he confided to Neale, as he went back to the mules:

“She’s the beatenist cook I ever see!”

“Good, you mean?” asked Neale, smiling.

“The best ever! I haven’t eaten victuals like ’em since I had a home and a mother, and that’s years and years back. I’m glad I struck this job.”

In the early evening the farmer came for Sammy and the goat, a small crate, that once had held a sheep, being put in the back of the wagon for Billy’s accommodation.

“Well, maybe you’ll take me next time, when I’ve growed bigger,” suggested the boy, as he waved rather a sad farewell to his friends.

“Maybe,” said Ruth, but under her breath she added: “Not if I know it.”

“Good-by, Sammy!” called Dot.

But Tess, still indignant over Sammy’s suggestion to turn the goat—her goat—loose to shift for himself, called merely:

“Good-by, Billy Bumps!”

Mr. Howbridge went into the town and telephoned to Milton to let Sammy’s father know the boy was safe and on his way back, and then matters became rather more quiet aboard the Bluebird.

The houseboat was towed to a good place in which to spend the night. Lines were carried ashore and the craft moored to trees along the towpath.

The mules were given their suppers and tethered, and Hank announced that he was going to do some fishing before he “turned in.”

“Oh, could I fish, too?” cried Dot.

“And me! I want to!” added Tess.

“I think they might be allowed to,” said Mr. Howbridge. “There are really good fish in the canal, coming from Lake Macopic, and we could cook them for breakfast. They’d keep all right in the ice box—if any are caught.”

“Oh, I’ll catch some!” declared Hank. “I’ve fished in the canal before.”

“Oh, please let us!” begged the small girls.

“But you have no poles, lines or anything,” objected Ruth.

“I’ve got lines and hooks, and I can easy cut some poles,” offered Hank, and so it was arranged.

A little later, while Ruth, Agnes and Mrs. MacCall were busy with such housework as was necessary aboard the Bluebird, and while Neale and Mr. Howbridge were getting Hank’s cot in readiness on the deck, the mule driver and Dot and Tess sat on the stern of the craft with their lines in the water.

It was a still, quiet evening, restful and peaceful, and as Hank had told the girls that fish liked quietness, no one of the trio was speaking above a whisper.

“Have you got a bite?” suddenly asked Tess in a low voice of her sister.

“No, not yet. I’m going to set my Alice-doll up where she can watch me. She never saw anybody catch a fish—my Alice-doll didn’t.” And Dot propped her “child” up near her, on the deck of the craft.

Suddenly Hank pulled his pole up sharply.

“I got one!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, I wish I’d get one!” echoed Tess.

“Let me see!” fairly shouted Dot. “Let me see the fish, Hank!” She struggled to her feet, and the next moment a wild cry rang out.

“She’s fallen in! Oh, she’s fallen in! Oh, get her out!”