The bowman had directed the gates to be thrown open, in order that the boat might enter the lock, when a voice was heard through the darkness, “Hold on, there!  Our boat is just round the bend, ready to enter.”

“We have as much right as you,” said the bowman.

As he spoke he commenced turning the gate.

My young reader will understand from the description already given that it will not do to have both lower and upper gates open at the same time.  Of course, one or the other boat must wait.

Both bowmen were determined to be first, and neither was willing to yield.  Both boats were near the lock, their head-lights shining as bright as day, and the spirit of antagonism reached and affected the crews of both.

Captain Letcher felt called upon to interfere lest there should be serious trouble.

He beckoned to his bowman.

“Were you here first?” he asked.

“It is hard to tell,” answered the bowman, “but I’m bound to have the lock, anyhow.”

The captain was not wholly unaffected by the spirit of antagonism which his bowman displayed.

“All right; just as you say,” he answered, and it seemed likely that conflict was inevitable.

James Garfield had been an attentive observer, and an attentive listener to what had been said.  He had formed his own ideas of what was right to be done.

“Look here, captain,” he said, tapping Captain Letcher on the arm, “does this lock belong to us?”

“I really suppose, according to law, it does not; but we will have it, anyhow.”

“No, we will not,” replied the boy.

“And why not?” asked the captain, naturally surprised at such a speech from his young driver.

“Because it does not belong to us.”

The captain was privately of opinion that the boy was right, yet but for his remonstrance he would have stood out against the claims of the rival boat.  He took but brief time for considerations, and announced his decision.

“Boys,” he said to his men, “Jim is right.  Let them have the lock.”

Of course there was no more trouble, but the bowman, and the others connected with the Evening Star, were angry.  It irritated them to be obliged to give up the point, and wait humbly till the other boat had passed through the lock.

The steersman was George Lee.  When breakfast was called, he sat down by James.

“What is the matter with you, Jim?” he asked.

“Nothing at all.”

“What made you so for giving up the lock last night?”

“Because it wasn’t ours.  The other boat had it by right.”

“Jim, you are a coward,” said Lee contemptuously.  “You aint fit for a boatman.  You’d better go back to the farm and chop wood or milk cows, for a man or boy isn’t fit for this business that isn’t ready to fight for his rights.”

James did not answer.  Probably he saw that it would be of no use.  George Lee was for his own boat, right or wrong; but James had already begun to reflect upon the immutable principles of right or wrong, and he did not suffer his reason to be influenced by any considerations touching his own interests or his own pride.