and other rivers a good many years over forty, and a drowning I've
known for every one of those years. The water's a treacherous dame--
she smiles at you in the sunshine, and the little waves kiss each
other and play around your boat, but the shadows lurk deep and
they're waiting, waiting, I tell you. The old river takes her toll.
It happened to be _your_ friend, that's all. But it wasn't anybody's
fault. Mr. Fulton would be the last one in the world to think so."

Jerry looked over at Mr. Fulton, who had finally ended his mute
pacing up and down, and now sat, chin in hand, staring out across
the water. A sudden impulse made the boy go over and stand for
awhile, silent, beside the grief-stricken man. He wanted to say
something, but the words would not come. So, after a little, he
walked upstream to where Dave and Frank huddled against an
overturned boat; the night was growing a bit chill.

"Moon's coming up," remarked Frank as Jerry settled down beside
them. No one answered.

"It's awful to sit around and not move a finger to find him,"
shivered Dave at last. "Seems as if there ought to be something we
could do."

"Do you know what I think?" replied Jerry, almost eagerly. "I think
I was right about that boat. I've been trying to remember what we
left in the boat that could have looked like--like what I saw when
she came up. There wasn't a thing in the boat--not a thing. It was
Tod I saw--I know it was!"

"But he never could have stayed in," objected Frank.