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“Wait, Billy! You are hurt, badly. Let me see.” She put out a detaining hand. Betty watching her, thought she had never seen “Mar” look so handsome and she thoroughly appreciated the cause. She stood at the end of the creaking wharf, and one little bare arm was lifted high. She held a small fruit jar filled with water and beet juice. It was awkward, but Billy had insisted on the fruit jar,—“So’s it will be sure to break; it’s the only kind of a bottle that always will break.” Now a steamboat was on hand. At odd times for weeks, Billy, Harold, and one or two other boys, under secrecy of lock and key, had been slowly bringing to completion a wonderful structure..