“Ned, how would you like to leave Beaufort?” asked his father, abruptly, one evening, at the supper-table.

“Leave Beaufort!” repeated Ned, astonished.

“Yes,” said his mother. “Move away, you know.”

“For good? Where to?” demanded Ned, eagerly.

“Yes, probably for good; not for bad, let us hope,” replied his father, answering his first.

“To Chicago,” replied his mother, answering his second.

“Will we take Maggie?” stammered Ned, with an eye to the pantry supplies.

“I suppose so, but that isn’t the point,” said his father—although Ned thought it a very important point, indeed. “The point is, would you like to go?”

“I’d hate to leave the river, and—and everything,” faltered Ned.

“But you’ll have Lake Michigan, instead,” spoke his mother.

“Tom and Hal and the other fellows won’t be there,” objected Ned.

“They can come to see you,” explained his mother. “And you’ll pick up lots of new friends. Why, the parks are full of boys!”

“Having fun?” asked Ned.

“Yes; baseball and all kinds of games, some that you never saw,” assured his mother.

“But there isn’t any hunting, is there?” objected Ned. “I want to hunt.”

“You can do your hunting when you come back to Beaufort to visit,” proposed his father.

“Can I take the scull-boat?” queried Ned.

“No, I believe you had better leave that here,” decided his father. “The lake has yachts, and steamers running across, you know——”

“Out of sight of land?” asked Ned, hopefully. “Do they get wrecked?”

“W-well, not often,” said his father. “But they do get out of sight of land, that’s sure.”

“When are we going to move?” demanded Ned, now all ready to pack up.

“About the middle of next month,” replied his father.

“Then I won’t have any wood to pile!” cried Ned, overjoyed.

“No,” said his father, laughing. “I guess we have enough to last us through.”

So they were really to move away from Beaufort! This was the secret. Ned found out a lot of things before supper was finished, and as soon as he could he rushed out to tell. He went up to Hal’s—and Hal was tremendously astounded. Hal and he went over to Tom’s—and Tom was astounded tremendously. And all three talked at once.

“My folks say I can have you up to visit me, right away as soon as we get settled,” announced Ned.

“I’ll come if I can,” agreed Hal.

“So will I, you bet,” agreed Tom. “I’ve never been in Chicago—at least, since I was big enough to remember.”

“You can have the whole scull-boat, now, Hal,” said Ned.

“I don’t want the whole of it. That wouldn’t be fair. You can take it with you,” proposed Hal.

“But I can’t take it—and that wouldn’t be fair, either,” declared Ned.

“I’ll tell you! You give your half to Tom!” cried Hal.

“That’s so!” exclaimed Ned. “Good idea, Hal! You can have my share, Tom. I’ll make you a present of it.”

“Oh, you’re fooling!” asserted Tom, staggered at the thought of owning part of the famous craft.

“No, I’m not,” retorted Ned. “You can have it, truly you can.”

“Sa-a-ay!” gasped Tom. “I don’t know how I can ever pay you back——”

“Oh, shucks!” scoffed Ned. “’Tisn’t anything. Besides, Hal thought of it first. He’s the fellow to thank.”

“Well,” said Tom, “anyhow, whenever you come around and want it you can have it again. I’ll just keep it for you.”

The scull-boat being settled, the boys chattered and planned about other things; and they talked as fast and as excitedly as though Ned was leaving the next day, instead of the next month. So much had to be discussed and arranged.

That night, Ned dreamed that he came down to breakfast and lo, his father told him to hurry, because they were all packed and ready to start; and there in the front yard was the scull-boat, heaped with household goods, and waiting. His mother and father and Maggie got in, and then when he followed he had scarcely any room. Off moved the scull-boat, down the street, with him trying to stick on; and into the river it glided—and just across the river, where the swimming-beach used to be, was Chicago. Faster sped the boat, and now one of his legs dangled in the water, and next both, and next he was slipping, slipping, slipping, and with one last despairing clutch he was left behind! He swam after the boat as hard as he could, but his clothes pulled him down, and nobody noticed him—until suddenly dear old Bob was there in the water beside him, and catching hold of Bob’s stiff tail he was towed, at the rate of a mile a minute, back to Commodore Jones’ fish-market.

But when he woke up, it wasn’t so!

The remaining weeks were busy ones for Ned. He had so many things to do, as farewells. Strange to say, all his friends envied him because he was going, and he envied them because they were staying! Only, he did not let on how he felt; it is rather nice to be envied, you see! Yet deep in his heart he wished that he might have a while longer in Beaufort, where he knew everybody and where there was so much fun.

At last his final trips down the river, and up the river, and across the river, and to the flats, and everywhere else, had been made. He had shaken hands with Commodore Jones—who took pipe from mouth long enough to say: “Well, good luck to you, boy!”—and had patted the scull-boat—who said nothing—good-bye for a space. At last all the chores and errands of “moving” had been done. The furniture had been stored, to be shipped later, the house was bare and empty, and it was high time they got out, for another family was waiting to get in.

The Millers slept, that night, at a neighbor’s; and in the morning they left.

Ah, how limp Ned felt, at going. Chicago could not hold a candle, he was sure, to Beaufort—even South Beaufort, where lurked Big Mike and Big Mike’s “gang.”

Hal and Tom and Zu-zu were at the station to see him off. Hal brought as a parting gift a knife with six blades (better than even the knife which had been lost among the Indian mounds), Tom a flaming red silk handkerchief (a thing of beauty), and Zu-zu six No. 8 shot (once they had been in Ned’s shoulder) set in a watch-charm!

“You’ve all got to come and see me as quick as we’re fixed; don’t you forget!” reminded Ned.

“We will—and you’ve got to come and see us, too!” they reminded, back.

Ned was hoping that something might be wrong with the engine, so that the train could not start. But alas!

“All abo-o-oard!” sang the conductor, watch in hand.

“Clang, clang! Clang, clang!” warned the bell. “Choo! Choo! Choo!” warned the exhaust. The train began to move.

“Good-bye!” called the friends—Mr. and Mrs. Miller’s friends, as well as Ned’s, were on the platform—waving.

“Good-bye!” called Ned, through the window, waving in answer. “Good-bye, Hal! Good-bye, Tom! Good-bye, Zu-zu!”

Across the bridge, over the river, rolled the train; past the breakwater, where he had rescued Tom, and above which was the swimming-beach; past the slough, where he had been shot, and over which was the trestle from which Bob had taken his amazing flight; and on and on, into the country. Beaufort and Beaufort people, Eagle Island, Deep Creek, and all, were far behind.

“Just the same, I’m coming back every chance I get!” vowed Ned, stoutly fighting to keep down the tears.

“Of course you are!” said his mother, putting her arm around him.

Whereupon Ned proceeded to make the most gorgeous plans that ever were; and the best thing about them is—that some of them came true!

THE END