The shells had now gotten away and were maneuvering to get into a good position at their stake boats, far beyond the sight of the gay company on hoard the Frolic, which could only guess how things were progressing by the rocketing cheers all along the line of anxiously waiting spectators.

Along the course the launches of the committee were darting thither and yonder like water-bugs in their efforts to keep the course clear. Presently arose the cries:

"They are off! They are off! They are coming! They are coming," and far up the line the puffing of the observation train could be heard with now and again an excited, hysterical tooting of the engine's whistle, as though in the midst of so much excitement it had to give vent to its own.

Presently two dots were visible, looking little more than huge water- bugs in the perspective, the foreshortening changing the long sixty-foot shells into spidery creatures with spreading legs.

The observation train following along the shore presented an animated, vari-colored spectacle, with its long chain of cars filled with beautifully gowned women and girls, and men in all the bravery of summer serges and white flannels. Banners were waving and voices cheering, to be caught up and flung back in answering cheers from the craft upon the river.

Peggy and Polly stood as girls so often do in stress of excitement, with arms clasped about each others' waists. The boys stood in characteristic attitudes: Durand with his hands upon his hips—lithe and straight as an arrow, but intent upon the onrushing crews; Shortie with his arm thrown over Wheedles' shoulder subconsciously demonstrating the affection he felt for this chum from whom he would so soon be separated and for how long he could not tell. The friendships formed at the Academy are exceptionally firm ones, but with graduation comes a dividing of the ways sometimes for years, sometimes forever. It is a special provision of Providence that youth rarely dwells upon this fact, and the feeling is invariably expressed by:

"So long! See you later, old man." Captain Stewart and Commander Harold were a striking evidence of this fact. They had not met until years had elapsed and the common tie of daughter and niece had re-united their interests. But, another strange feature; they had as much in common today as though their ways had divided only the week before.

They now stood watching the approaching crews with powerful glasses, their terse comments enlightening their friends as to what was taking place beyond their unaided range of vision. Peggy and Polly were fairly dancing up and down in their eagerness.

On came the shells growing every second more defined in outline, although from their distance from the Frolic their progress seemed slow, only the flashing of the blades in and out of the water indicating that the men were not out for a pleasure pull, and the blue ripples astern telling that sixteen twelve-foot sweeps were pushing that water behind them for all they were worth.

Thus far Harvard was in the lead by half a length, and holding her own as she drew near the three-mile flag, where the Frolic swung and tugged at her anchors. But it must be admitted that the sympathies and hopes of all in the Frolic centered in the Yale shell; a Yale coach had drilled and scolded and "cussed" and petted the Navy boys to victory only a few weeks before, and Ralph, if no one else, felt that all his future rested in the ability of that Yale coach "to knock some rowing sense into his block."

"Daddy Neil! Daddy Neil, yell at them! Yell!" screamed Peggy, breaking away from Polly to run to her father's side and literally shake him, as the crews drew nearer and nearer.

"I AM yelling, honey. Can't you hear me?"

"I mean yell something that will make those Yale men put—put oh, something into their stroke which will overhaul the red blades."

"Ginger? You mean ginger? To make 'em pull like the very—ahem. Like the very dickens? Hi! Shortie, whoop up the Siren—there are only about a dozen of us here but give it hard. Give it for all you're worth when the Yale crew crosses our bow. You girls know it and so do the older women, and the crew can make a try at it. Now be ready. Whoop it up!"

Shortie sprang into position as cheer-leader pro-tem and if wild gyrations and a deep voice lent inspiration certainly nothing more was needed, for as the shells came rushing on

"Hoo—oo—oo—oo—oooo!
Hoo—oo—oo—oo—oooo!
Hoo—oo—oo—oo—oooo!
Hoo—oo—oo—oo—oooo!
Navy! Navy! Navy!
Yale! Yale! Yale!"

was wailed out over the water, and as upon many another occasion back yonder on the old Severn it had acted as a match to gunpowder to a losing cause with the Navy boys, so it now startled the men in the Yale boat, for they had many friends in the Navy School and had heard that yell too often when they were in the lead in some sport not to know the full significance of it. It meant to the losing people: "Get after the other fellows and beat them in spite of all the imps of the lower regions!"

The Yale men had no time to acknowledge the cheer; all their thoughts and energies must center upon the O-n-e, T-w-o, T-h-r-e-e, F-o-u-r, F-i- v-e, etc. of the coxswain and his "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" But that yell had done what Peggy hoped and secretly prayed it would:

The long blades flashed in and out of the water quicker and cleaner, cutting down Harvard's lead, until just as they swept by the Frolic that discouraging discrepancy was closed and the two shell's noses were even. Yale had made a gallant spurt.

"Up anchor and after them," ordered Captain Boynton and the crew sprang to obey orders, eagerness to see the finish lending phenomenal speed to their fingers, and the Frolic was soon in hot pursuit of the shells, Yale now pulling a trifle ahead of her adversary in that last fateful mile.

How those eight bare backs swayed back and forth. Harvard's beautiful, long, clean sweep was doing pretty work, but that Siren Yell seemed to have supplied the "ginger" necessary to spur on the Yale men.

"Give 'em another! Give 'em another!" shouted Captain Stewart, as the Frolic came abreast of the Yale crew, and fairly shaking Captain Harold in his excitement.

"Avast there! Give way, man! Do you want to yank me out of my coat?" he laughed.

"I'll yank somebody out of something if those Yale boys don't pull a length ahead of those Johnny Harvards," sputtered Neil Stewart.

"Whoop it up fellows—AND friends. The four N Yell for old Yale," bawled Shortie in order to make himself heard above the din and pandemonium of screaming sirens and the yelling, and in spite of it all the Yale crew heard

"N—n—n—n!
A—a—a—a!
V—v—v—v!
Y—y—y—y!
Yale! Yale! Yale!"

and laid their strength to their sweeps. Chests were heaving and breath coming in panting gasps, but the coxswain of the Yale crew was abreast of number three in the Harvard shell, and inch by inch the space was lengthening in favor of the blue-tipped blades.

"Yale! Yale! Yale!"

yelled the crowd as only such a crowd can yell. Then clear water showed between the shells and the four-mile flag fluttered like a blur as the Yale crew rushed by it. Slower plied the blades, shoulders which had swayed backward and forward in such perfect rhythm drooped, and one or two faces, gray from exhaustion, fell forward upon heaving chests. Then the rowing ceased, the long oars trailed over the water, as Harvard's crew slid by and came to a standstill. Friends flocked to the shells to bring them alongside the floats where, nerve-force coming to the rescue of physical exhaustion, the big fellows managed to scramble to the floats and fairly hug each other as they did an elephantine dance in feet from which some stockings were sagging, and some gone altogether. But who cared whether legs were bare or covered!

The Frolic came boiling up to the float at a rate calculated to smash things to smithereens if she did not slow down at short order, everybody yelling, everybody shouting like bedlamites.

"Best ever! Best ever! The Siren started it and the Four N. did the trick!" shouted Captain Stewart, while all the others cheered and congratulated in chorus.

"Give 'em again. Give 'em again. By Jove, I'm going to get up a race of my own and all you fellows will have to come to yell for us," cried Captain Boynton, and again the Navy Yell sent a thrill through those weary bodies upon the float. Then gathering together all the "sand" left in them they gave the old Eli Yell for their friends of the Navy with more spirit than seemed possible after such a terrific ordeal as they had just undergone.

And all those months of training, all that endless grind of hard work, for a test which had lasted but a few minutes, ending in a certain victory for one shell and a certain defeat for the other, since victory surely could not possibly result for both.

"See you all at the Griswold tonight," called Captain Boynton, as the launch shoved off and got under way.

"Sure thing! Have our second wind by that time we hope," were the cheery answers.

"Take the helm again, little skipper," ordered Captain Boynton. "Your Daddy is just dying to have you but modesty forbids him to even look a hint of it."

"May I really?" asked Peggy.

"Get busy," and Peggy laughed delightedly as she took the wheel from the coxswain who handed it over with:

"Now I'll take a lesson from a man-o-war's lassie."

Shortie, Happy and Wheedles had now gone aft to "be luxurious" they said, for wicker chairs there invited relaxation and the ladies were more than comfortable. Ralph, Durand and Jean had gone forward to the wheel to watch the little pilot's work, Durand's expressive face full of admiration for this young girl who had grown to be his good comrade.

Durand was not a "fusser," but he admired Peggy Stewart more than any girl he had ever known, and the friendship held no element of silly sentimentality.

How bonny they both looked, and how strikingly alike. Could there, after all, have been any kindred drop of blood in their ancestry? It did not seem possible, yet how COULD two people look so alike and not have some kinship to account for it?

Peggy was not conscious of Durand's close scrutiny. She was too intent upon taking the Frolic back to the Griswold's dock without being stove in, for in the homeward rush of the sightseers, there seemed a very good chance of such a disaster.

Nevertheless, there always seems to be a special Providence watching over fools, and to judge by the manner in which some of those launches were being handled, that same Providence had all it could handle that afternoon.

They had gone about half the distance, and Peggy was having all she wanted to do to keep clear of one particularly erratic navigator, her face betokening her contempt for the wooden-headed youth at the helm.

The badly handled launch was about thirty feet long, and carrying a heavier load than was entirely safe. She was yawing about erratically, now this way, now that.

"Well, that gink at the helm is a mess and no mistake," was Durand's scornful comment. "What the mischief is he trying to do with that tub anyhow?"

"Wreck it, ruin a better one, and drown his passengers, I reckon," answered Peggy.

"And look at that little child. Haven't they any better sense than to let her clamber up on that rail?" exclaimed Polly, for just as the launch in question was executing some of its wildest stunts, a little girl, probably six years of age, had scrambled up astern and was trying to reach over and dabble her hands in the water.

"They must be seven kinds of fools," cried Durand. "Say, Peggy, there's going to be trouble there if they don't watch out."

But Peggy had already grown wise to the folly—yes, rank heedlessness— on board the other launch. If any one had the guardianship of that child she was certainly not alive to the duty.

"I'm going to slow down a trifle and drop a little astern," she said quietly to Durand. "Don't say a word to any one else but stand by in case that baby falls overboard; they are not taking any more notice of her than if she didn't belong to them. I never knew anything so outrageous. What sort of people can they be, any way?"

"Fool people," was Durand's terse rejoinder and his remark seemed well merited, for the three ladies on board were chatteringly oblivious of the child's peril, and the men were not displaying any greater degree of sense.

Peggy kept her launch about a hundred feet astern. They had passed the bridge and were nearing the broader reaches of the river where ferry boats were crossing to and fro, and the larger excursion boats which had brought throngs of sightseers to New London were making the navigation of the stream a problem for even more experienced hands, much less the callow youth who was putting up a bluff at steering the "wash tub," as Ralph called it.

The older people in the Frolic were not aware of what was happening up ahead. The race was ended, they had been tinder a pretty high stress of excitement for some time, and were glad to settle down comfortably and leave the homeward trip to Peggy and the coxswain who was close at hand. Never a thought of disaster entered their minds.

Then it came like a flash of lightning:

There was a child's pathetic cry of terror; a woman's wild, hysterical shriek and shouts of horror from the near-by craft.

In an instant Durand was out of his white service jacket, his shoes were kicked off and before a wholesome pulse could beat ten he was overside, shouting to Peggy as he took the plunge:

"Follow close!"

"I'm after you," was the ringing answer.

"Heaven save us!" cried Captain Stewart, springing to his feet, while the others started from their chairs.

"Trust him. He is all right, Daddy. I've seen him do this sort of thing before," called Peggy, keeping her head and handling her launch in a manner to bring cheers from the other boats also rushing to the rescue.

It was only the work of a moment for Durand swimming as he could swim, and the next second he had grasped the child and was making for the Frolic, clear-headed enough to doubt the chance of aid being rendered by the people on the launch from which the child had fallen, but absolutely sure of Peggy's cooperation, for he had tested it under similar conditions once before when a couple of inexperienced plebes had been capsized from a canoe on the Severn, and Peggy, who had been out in her sailboat at the time, had sped to their rescue. A boat-hook was promptly held out to the swimmer and he and his burden were both safe on board the Frolic a moment later, neither much the worse for their dip, though the child was screaming with terror, answering screams from one of the women in the other launch indicating that she had some claim to the unfortunate one.

"She's all right. Not a hair harmed. Keep cool and we'll come alongside," ordered Captain Stewart. "Not the least harm done in the world."

But the woman continued to shriek and rave until Mrs. Harold said:

"I would like to shake her soundly. If she had been paying any attention to the child the accident never could have happened."

The dripping baby was transferred to her mother, Captain Harold had clapped Durand on the back and cried: "Boy, you're a trump of the first water," and the rest of the party were telling Peggy that she was "a brick" and "a first-class sport," and "a darling," according to the vocabulary or sex of the individual, when the second feminine occupant of the launch which had been the cause of all the excitement, electrified every one on the Frolic by exclaiming:

"Why, Neil! Neil Stewart! Is it possible after all these years? Don't you know me? Don't you know Katherine? Peyton's wife!"

For a moment Neil Stewart looked nonplussed. His only brother had married years before. Neil had attended the wedding, meeting the bride then, and only twice afterward, for his brother had died two years after his marriage and Neil had never since laid eyes upon Peyton's wife. If the truth must be told he had not been eager to, for she was not the type of woman who attracted him in the least. Yet here she was before him. By this time the launches had been run up to one of the docks upon the West shore of the Thames. Naturally, both consolation for the emotional mother of the child as well as introductions were now in order, Mrs. Harold and Captain Stewart offering their services. These, however, were declined, but Mrs. Peyton Stewart embraced the opportunity to rhapsodize over "that darling child who had handled the launch with such marvelous skill and been instrumental in saving sweet little Clare's life." Durand, drying off in the launch, seemed to be quite out of her consideration in the scheme of things, for which Durand was duly thankful, for he had taken one of his swift, inexplicable aversions to her. But Madam continued to gash over poor Peggy until that modest little girl was well-nigh beside herself.

"And to think you are right here and I have not been aware of it. Oh, I must know that darling child of whose existence I have actually been ignorant. I shall never, never cease to reproach myself."

Neil Stewart did not inquire upon what score, but as soon as it could be done with any semblance of grace, bade his undesirable relative farewell, promising to "give himself the pleasure of calling the following day."

"And be sure I shall not lose sight of THAT darling girl again," Mrs.
Peyton Stewart assured him.

"I'm betting my hat she won't either," was Durand's comment to Wheedles, "and I'd also bet there's trouble in store for Peggy Stewart if THAT femme once gets her clutches on her. Ugh! She's a piece of work.

"A rotten, bad piece, I'd call it," answered Wheedles under his breath.

When Mr. and Mrs. Harold, Captain Stewart and Peggy returned to the launch one might have thought that they, instead of Durand, had been plunged overboard. They seemed dazed, and the run across to the Griswold dock was less joyous than the earlier portion of the day had been.