forth as she always did when puzzled or alarmed, "Is it the current taking it away, Betty?"
"But it's going against the current," Grace pointed out. "Some animal must have become entangled in the anchor or painter, Betty. An alligator, perhaps."
"That's it!" cried Mollie. "An alligator is running away with our boat. Oh, Betty!"
"It may be that," admitted the Little Captain, as she gazed after her craft. "I didn't think of it, but that's probably what it is. I don't see the beast above the water, though. Do you, girls?"
There was nothing visible except part of the anchor rope that extended from the ring-bolt in the forward deck, over the stem and slanting down into the water.
"The alligator may be swimming just below the surface," was Mollie's opinion. "He may come up pretty soon, and we can throw stones at it. That's it, Betty. We must stone the creature and make it let go. Come on!"
Betty laughed. The others looked at Mollie curiously.
"She—she's hysterical," murmured Grace.
"I am not!" protested Mollie indignantly.
"But the idea of throwing stones at an alligator!" cried Grace. "Why, its hide will turn a bullet!"
