It was not exactly "Youth at the prow and Pleasure at the helm," but we were very jolly and not a little proud.
[Footnote 2: Named in honor of the amateur engineers.] A neglected knot-hole soon caused the boat to leak badly.

We had made but one circuit, when we were obliged to "hug the shore" and devote our entire energies to bailing.

"Tip her a little more," I cried, and the next instant we were both rolled into the water.

It was an absurd experience, and after scrambling out, our clothes so heavy we could scarcely step, we vowed, between hysteric fits of laughter, to keep our tip-over a profound secret.
But the next time I went to town, friends began to smile mysteriously, asked me if I had been out on the lake yet, made sly and jocose allusions to a sudden change to Baptistic faith, and if I cordially invited them to join me in a row, would declare a preference for surf and salt water, or, if pressed, would murmur in the meanest way something about having a bath-tub at home.
It is now nearly a year since that little adventure, but it is still a subject of mirth, even in other towns.

A friend calling yesterday told me the version he had just heard at Gillford, ten miles away! "You bet they have comical goings-on at that woman's farm by the Gooseville depot! She got a regular menagerie, fust off--everything she see or could hear of.