"Hello, Dutchy! What in thunder have you got there?" It was Bill who spoke. We were on our way home for the winter holidays, and had been held up at Millville by Reddy Schreiner, who had informed us that Dutchy was down by the river with the boat to give us a sail up to Lamington.

A vision of a fleet ice boat skimming up the river at express train speed swam before our eyes. But the next moment, as we turned the corner into River Street, we were surprised by the sight of our old scow just off the pier at anchor, and in open water. It was rigged up with a jib and mainsail, which were flapping idly in the wind. It had also been altered by decking over the top, with the exception of a small cockpit, evidently for the purpose of keeping out the water when she heeled over under the wind. We were disappointed and quite annoyed at not finding the ice boat on hand; furthermore, our annoyance was considerably heightened by Dutchy's broad grin of evident delight at our discomfiture. "The river wasn't all frozen over," he explained, "and we couldn't bring the ice boat down, so we rigged up the scow and she came down splendidly."