"A couple of old sticks that would serve for oars," Betty answered.
"Of course it's taking a big chance----"
"Say no more," cried Mollie, jumping to her feet and wringing out her
bathing suit. "Big chance is our middle name anyway. Lead on, Betty.
Where do we find this craft?"
"I'm not quite sure that I can find it," said Betty, leading the way
into the woods, "but it was down this way somewhere. Don't make any
noise, girls, and let's hurry, or we won't get there before he
disappears again."
Grace and Amy were now entering into the spirit of the thing, and they
followed at Betty's heels eagerly, careful not to step on stick or
stone that might betray their presence.
Luckily Betty managed to stumble directly on the old derelict rowboat
where it lay in ancient helplessness in the concealment of a thick
grove of bushes along the upper reach of the stream.
"Goody! This is almost too much luck," cried Betty exultantly. "You
get in the stern, Amy, and Grace in the bow. Mollie and I will do the
rowing."
"I only hope the old thing doesn't take in too much water," said Amy,
as she and Grace got gingerly into the rickety old craft and Betty and
Mollie pushed it off from the shore.
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