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chugged the Gem and the sudden acceleration in the heart-beats of the girls seemed to keep time with the staccato exhaust of the motor.

"Lost!" faltered Grace.

"And night coming on," echoed Amy.

"Oh, you two!" cried Mollie. "I wish I were a boy!"

"Why?" asked Betty, as she guided her craft to the center of the stream. It was lighter there, for they were not so much under the overhanging trees with their festoons of moss. "Why, Mollie, dear?"

"Then I could use slang, such as—oh, well, what's the use? I don't suppose it would do any good."

"But are you sure we are lost?" asked Amy. "What makes you say so, Betty?'

"Because this place doesn't look at all like any part of the river we came down before. The trouble was that we let Tom steer, and we didn't