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longer. Papa said at breakfast that he thought we ought to try a new fishing-place.”
“My, but he loves to fish, doesn’t he?” laughed Chub, as he raised the curtains and let the sunlight in. “Any mail this morning?”
“Not a bit,” answered Harry. “Let’s take that list, Chub, and get the things together we’re to take back to the boat.”
“All right. I wonder what I did with it. If I’ve gone and lost it—no, here it is. Kerosene—hello!”
“What?” cried Harry.
Chub pointed to the counter half-way down the store. One glance was sufficient for Harry. With a cry of alarm, she darted to the money-drawer and pulled it open.
“Oh, Chub!” she wailed despairingly.
The till was empty.
