CHAPTER XVII.
THE ESCAPE.
Monday was a cold, dreary, disagreeable day.

The wind continued northeast; a fine, drizzly rain was falling, and a thick fog had settled over the lake, which effectually concealed the camp of the Rovers from the main shore.
An excursion had been planned for the day by the two boat clubs; but the weather was so unpropitious that it was abandoned.

About nine o'clock, however, the members of the clubs began to assemble at their halls in search of such recreation as could be found indoors.
Frank opened the Zephyr's boat-house as usual, and great was his dismay when he discovered that the boat was not in its berth.

Calling Uncle Ben from the stable, he announced to him the astounding intelligence that the Zephyr had been stolen! "What does it mean, Uncle Ben ?" he asked, in deep anxiety.
"I can't tell you, Frank; only, as you say, it has been stolen.

It couldn't have broken adrift." "Of course not; and one of the windows is open." "That accounts for it," replied Uncle Ben, as he walked down the boat-house and looked out upon the lake.