"I can't row for a cent the way the book says it ought to be done," declared Tom.
"Me either," came from Sid.
"And yet that's the right way," said Frank. "I guess we'll get on to it after a bit. But let's row our old way now, and go down to Crest Island. That will make a good distance, and test our wind. Later we can row right. Anyhow, if we have a coach he'll show us the ropes. Give way now, everybody!"
They made good speed, and, a little later, were nearing the island, the largest one of three or four that dotted the lake. Crest Island was the home of several cottagers in Summer.
"Look! What's that! cried Tom, as they neared the upper point of the bit of water-surrounded land.
"Looks like a boat wrecked there!" said Phil.
"It is," declared Sid. "It's smashed on the rocks."
"Let's take a look," suggested Frank. "Maybe it's worth saving."
"It's a motor-boat," said Tom, as they came nearer. "But I guess there isn't much left of it."
"And there's part of the boathouse it was evidently in," came from Phil. "Probably it was carried away by the flood—boat, boathouse and all, and smashed on these rocks."
By this time they had brought their boat to the
