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.  “I will take the Sylph and hunt it up.”

“Let me go with you, Uncle Ben.”

“My eyes! but the Sylph is gone too!” exclaimed the veteran, as he perceived the moorings afloat where she usually lay.

“Strange, isn’t it?”

Uncle Ben scratched his head, and did not know what to make of it.

“Here comes Tony, running with all his might,” continued Frank.  “What’s the matter, Tony?”

“Somebody has stolen the Butterfly!” gasped Tony, out of breath.”

“And the Zephyr and the Sylph!”

Several of the members of the club now arrived, and the matter was thoroughly discussed.

“Who do you suppose stole them!” said Frank.

“Who? why, Tim Bunker of course,” replied Fred.

“But he must have had some help.”

“Perhaps not; he has done it to be revenged, because your father turned him out of the club.”

“Very likely.”

“May be he’ll smash them up,” suggested William Bright.

“Have you seen anything of Charles this morning?” asked Mr. Hardy, entering the boat-house at this moment.

“No, sir.”

“He did not sleep at home last night.”

The Zephyrs looked at each other with astonishment, and most of them, probably, connected him with the disappearance of the boats.  His intimacy with Tim Bunker created a great many painful misgivings, especially when Mr. Hardy told them that his son had played truant on Saturday; and one of the boys had heard of his being seen with Tim on that day.  Various other facts were elicited, which threw additional light upon the loss of the boats.  Mr. Hardy was in great distress.  It was clear that his son had wandered farther from the path of truth than he had ever suspected.

Frank had gone up to the house to inform his father of the loss of the boats, and Captain Sedley soon joined the party.  He sympathized deeply with Mr. Hardy, and was satisfied that his son could not be far off.  It was impossible to search the lake, as there were no boats for the purpose.

As nothing could be done at present on the lake, Captain Sedley ordered his horse, with the intention of driving round it in search of the fugitive and of the boats.  Mr. Hardy was invited to go with him.

On their arrival at Rippleton they found that Tim Bunker was missing, as well as a great many other boys.  They continued to examine the shores of the lake till they reached Joe Braman’s house, on the north side.

Captain Sedley inquired for his boat; and Joe, after trying to evade the truth, confessed that he had let it to Tim for a week, but did not know where he had gone with it.  They were sure then that the boys were engaged in some mad enterprise:  and at about eleven o’clock the two gentlemen reached home, without having obtained any intelligence of Charles.

“Have you discovered anything, Ben?” asked Captain Sedley.

“Yes, sir; I heard voices in the direction of Center Island.”

“They are there, then,” replied Captain Sedley, as he repaired to the boat-house.

About one o’clock the fog lifted, and revealed to the astonished party the camp of the Rovers.  A large fire burned near the two tents, around which the boys were gathered, for the weather was so inclement as to render Tim’s enterprise anything but romantic.

The Sylph, the two club boats, and Joe Braman’s “gondola” lay near the shore, apparently uninjured.

“This is a mad frolic,” said Captain Sedley; “but we may be thankful it is no worse.”

“My boy in company with such young scoundrels!” added Mr. Hardy, bitterly.

“He is sick of them and the adventure I will warrant.”

“I hope so.”

“Charles never did like Tim Bunker,” suggested Frank.

“What is to be done?” asked Mr. Hardy.

“We can do nothing; they have all the boats.  They have managed well, and we are helpless.”

“Can’t we build a raft, father?” added Frank.

“If we did, they would take to the boats and keep out of our way.  Go to the house, Frank, and bring me the spy-glass.  We will examine them a little more closely.”

“They’ll get enough on’t afore to-morrow,” said Uncle Ben.

“It will cure them of camping out.”

“Tim said, the last time he was with us, that we ought to camp out,” added William.

“The best way is to let them have it out till they are sick on’t,” continued Uncle Ben.  “It won’t hurt ’em; they won’t get the scurvy.”

Captain Sedley took the glass on Frank’s return, and examined the camp.  By its aid he obtained a very correct idea of their encampment.  The Rovers were at dinner, and he recognized Charles Hardy and several of his companions.  The glass was taken by several of the party; and, after this examination, even Mr. Hardy concluded that it was best to make a merit of necessity, and let the foolish boys have out their frolic.

Soon after, the Rovers took to the boats, and pulled up the lake.  Then, the anxious party on shore discovered that Charles was in command of the Zephyr.  With the help of the spy-glass, they were able to form a very correct idea of the state of feeling on board the boats.  There was a great deal of quarreling in both; and, after they had been out half an hour, a regular fight occurred in the Zephyr.

About five o’clock they returned to the island, and before dark it began to rain.  All the evening a great fire blazed on the island; but the frail tents of the Rovers must have been entirely inadequate to protect them from the severity of the weather.

At nine o’clock the Zephyrs, who had spent the evening in the hall, went home, leaving Uncle Ben, who had been deputed by Captain Sedley to watch the Rovers, still gazing through his night-glass at the camp-fires on the island.  Soon after, discordant cries were wafted over the waters, and it was plain to the veteran that there was “trouble in the camp.”  The sounds seemed to indicate that a fight was in progress.  After a time, however, all was quiet again, and the old sailor sought his bed.

During the night it cleared off, and Tuesday was a bright, pleasant day.  It was found in the morning that one of the tents had been moved away from the other.  About nine o’clock all the Rovers gathered on the beach; but they were divided into two parties, and there seemed to be a violent dispute between them.  One of the parties, as they attempted to get into the Zephyr, was assaulted by the other, and a fight ensued, in which neither gained a victory.  Then a parley, and each party took one of the boats and pulled away from the island.  It was observed that Charles was no longer the coxswain.  He seemed to have lost the favor of his companions, and several of them were seen to kick and strike him.

The boats went in different directions-the Zephyr pulling towards Rippleton.  When her crew observed the party who were watching them from the shore, they commenced cheering lustily, and the coxswain, out of bravado, steered towards them.

“Who is he?” asked Frank.

“It is Barney Ropes,” replied Tony.  “He is as big a rascal as there is out of jail.”

“Here they come.”

“Suppose we give them a volley of stones,” suggested Fred Harper.

“No!” said Frank, firmly.

The boat was pulling parallel with the shore, and not more than ten rods from it.  The Rovers yelled, and indulged freely in coarse and abusive language, as they approached.  Charles Hardy, with averted face, was pulling the forward oar; but not one of his former companions hailed him.  They pitied him; they were sure, when they saw his sad countenance, that he was suffering intensely.

Suddenly Charles dropped his oar, and stood up.

“See!  Tim Bunker!” shouted he, pointing to the opposite side of the lake.

All the crew turned their eyes that way, and Charles, seizing his opportunity, sprang with a long leap into the water.

The act was so sudden that the crew could not, for a moment, recover from their astonishment, and Charles struck out lustily for the shore.

“After him!” shouted Barney; and his companions bent upon their oars.

But their excitement threw them into confusion, they lost the stroke, and Barney was such a bungler himself that he could not get the boat about.

“Bravo, Charley!” shouted the Zephyrs.

“Let him go,” said Barney, when he realized that the fugitive was beyond his reach; and, rallying his crew, he retreated towards the island.

“Hurrah, Charley!  You are safe,” said Tony, as he waded into the water to help him ashore.

Charles was so much exhausted when he reached the land that he could not speak.  Captain Sedley, who had observed the occurrence from his library window, hastened down to the beach.

The penitent Zephyr, in his agony, threw himself on his knees before him, and in piteous, broken accents besought his pardon.  Captain Sedley was deeply moved, and they all realized that “the way of the transgressor is hard.”

The sufferer was kindly conveyed to his home by Captain Sedley, and his father and mother were too glad at his return to reproach him for his conduct.  When he had changed his clothes, and his emotion had in some degree subsided, he confessed his errors, and solemnly promised never to wander from the right path again.  And he was in earnest; he felt all he said in the depths of his soul.  He had suffered intensely during his transgression; and his friends were satisfied that he had not sinned from the love of sin.  He had been led away by Tim Bunker, and bitter had been the consequences of his error.  He had been punished enough,-the sin had been its own punishment,-and his father and his club freely forgave him.  He was not a hardened boy, and it was probable that his experience with the Rovers would prove a more salutary correction than any penalty that could be inflicted.

From Charles all the particulars of the “frolic” were obtained.  After his unsuccessful attempt to escape in the Sylph, Tim had compelled him to stay in his tent; and, worn out with fatigue and suffering, he had slept till nearly nine o’clock.  He had passed the day in a state bordering upon misery.  At night a dispute had occurred, ending in a fight, in which his lieutenant, Barney, had led on the Zephyr party.  The result was a separation, and Charles, deprived of Tim’s aid, could no longer sustain himself.  Barney usurped his command, and treated him in a most shameful manner.

Oh, how bitterly did he repent his folly and wickedness!  When they were about to embark, he attempted to go over to Tim’s party.  Barney resented the attempt, and another fight ensued.  Then he was kicked into the boat, for his chief could not spare so able an oarsman.

His mental anguish was so great that he could no longer endure it; and, in desperation, he had made his escape, as we have narrated.  His case was a hopeful one, and his father cheerfully remitted to Mr. Walker the amount contained in the lost purse, with the mortifying confession of his son’s guilt.