"I don't know," said the boy; "I don't know which is which."
"You know, the center-board's the thing that sticks down at the bottom of the boat," said Garth, neglecting his luncheon, "to keep her from sliding, so that she can sail on the wind, and everything. It's like a keel, only you can haul it up by a rope when you get in among the rocks or somewhere. You know!"
"Well, I do now," said the boy, "but I don't know whether Bill's boat has one or not. It—she has one big sail, and then a little one in front."
"She must be a knockabout," said Garth, hastily consuming a little bread and butter. "She'll prob'ly go like everything; those little ones can. And they don't yaw much when you're running before the wind, the way a cat-boat does."
"Say!" said the boy, "I wish I knew enough to tell Billy all that! Where'd you get on to it all?"
"I live in a lighthouse," said Garth, putting down his cup, "and we sail every day."
The boy and his mother looked at each other.
"Do you mean that, kid,—that you live in a lighthouse?"
