He calls her the Speedwell.

He has no sail-boat, but he has passed hour after hour trying to conjure up some plan by which he might be enabled to possess himself of one.

Such a one as he wants, and as most of the village have, would cost fifty dollars.

Already he has laid by half that amount; but how is he to get the rest?
He has begun to grow impatient.

The yachting season has just opened; every day the river is dotted with white sails; trials of speed between the swiftest sailers come off almost every hour, and he is obliged to stand and look on, or content himself with rowing around in his skiff.