“Yes,” said Charlie, “I belong to Mr. Walton’s at St. John’s.”

“What saint is that?”

The wrathful Charlie gave Tim a look of contempt and turned away.

“O, so he wont turn his pretty face this way, wont he?”

Having said this, Tim changed his tone and shouted fiercely, “You’ve got to look this way, sir.  Bob, you get on that other raft and I will take this one here, and we will catch that young saint.”

The two unoccupied rafts were immediately brought into service.  Never did an innocent merchantman fleeing from two pirates make a harder exertion than did Charlie to get away from Tim and Bob.  They gained on him, though, rapidly.

“There they come,” thought Charlie, giving one look back at the dirty, saucy buccaneers.  Tim had now reached the middle of the little pond when a thing greatly in his favor proved to be a serious thing against him, and that was the strength of his push.  The fastenings of the log-raft were not equal to any violent pressure upon them, and suddenly they gave way and the logs separated.  Tim’s legs separated with them till they could part no farther, and then he tried to spring from one log to the other.  Alas for him, he put his foot in the wrong place, and that wrong place was the water!  Down he went into as thorough a bath as ever a young rascal got in this world.  The water was not over his head, and he was soon on his feet, but the dip had been complete enough to satisfy the most vindictive members of the Up-the-Ladder Club, and Tim was spitting and sputtering, then spitting and sputtering again, trying to clear month, eyes, nose, ears, of the unwelcome, dirty ditch-water.

“Give—­us—­a—­hand, Bob,” he gasped.

Charlie did not stay to see any further developments, but pushed for the shore, safely reaching it, and then made his way to the fence, climbing it and gaining the wood-lot.  In the meantime, the other members of the club had halted and were consulting together.  It was Juggie who arrested their flight.  “It is too bad,” he said, “to leave Charlie.”

That remark detained Billy, and then Sid, Wort, and Pip stopped.

Sid laughed and said, “My father has been in the army and he would call this the flying artillery.  So you see it is all right.”

“I’m afraid it’s all wrong,” said Billy, “to leave Charlie behind.”

“Yes,” said Wort, “to run away from a member of the club.”

There was now a general feeling of indignation toward any member of the club that had deserted Charlie, if that member could be found, as each one’s motive had not been to desert another, but the prudent impulse to save himself.

Sid was among the fiercest to shout and the most furious to propose.  “Charlie deserted!” he said.  “Who’s deserted Charlie?  That wont do!  Back, fellers, to the rescue!”

A brave, sympathetic shout arose.  A few minutes ago Sid would have been afraid of it as something that might attract the enemy’s attention, but he calculated that they must now be at a safe distance from the down-townies.