Part 33 (1/2)

Morning ca with a slow-heaving sea and a vanished wind Bill o' Burnt Bay looked about--stared in every direction from the listed little schooner--but could find no fa harbour, however, of a desolate and uninhabited coast There were no cottages on the hills; there were no fish-flakes and stages by the waterside Beyond the tickle--that wide passage through which the schooner had driven in the dark--the sea was heaving darkly under the gray ed rock fell to the harbour water; and rocky hills, stripped of verdure by the winds of a thousand years, hid their bald heads in the fog

”I don't knohat it _is_,” said Bill o' Burnt Bay to the boys; ”but I knoell enough what it _ought_ t' be”

”'Tis never the Shore,” Billy Topsail declared

”I'm 'lowin',” said Skipper Bill, but yet doubtfully, ”that 'tis one o' the Pony Islands They lies hereabouts,” he continued, scratching his head, ”long about thirty mile off the mainland We're on a westerly shore, and that means Islands, for we've never coet a peep at the Bald-head I could tell for certain”

The grim landmark called the Bald-head, however,--if this were indeed one of the Pony Islands--was in the mist

”I'll lay 'tis the Pony Islands,” Billy Topsail declared again

”It may be,” said the skipper

”An' Little Pony, too,” Billy went on ”I mind me now that we sheltered in this harbour in the _Fish Killer_ afore she was lost on Feather's Folly”[6]

”I 'low _'tis_,” Skipper Bill agreed

Whether the Pony Islands or not--and whether Big Pony or Little Pony--clearing weather would disclose Meanti somewhat tartly pointed out, the _Spot Cash_ was to be looked to She had gone aground at low tide, it see at anchor, free of the bottom The butt of her bowsprit had been driven into the forecastle; and the bowsprit itself had gone perht and ready The practical-h, that notwithstanding the loss of a bowsprit the firo out of business for lack of insurance And after an a, the cook--Bagg _was_ the cook--presently announced, the folk of the _Spot Cash_ went ashore to take observations

”We'll rig a bowsprit o' so lifts”

The fog was already thinning

Meantile_ was being warped in towards shore and moored with lines to a low, sheer rock, which served adplank was run out, the hatches were lifted, the barroere fetched fronificant operations were directed in a half-whisper by the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull Ashore went the fish--ashore by the barrow-load--and into a convenient little gully where the tarpaulins would keep it snug against the weather Fortune favoured the plan: fog hid the island froer as the work advanced; and the voice of the rat-eyed little clerk fell lower, and his an to shake

In the cabin the skipper sat, with an inspiring dra & Coht he); but, pshaw! the _Black Eagle_ was insured to the hilt and would be sht little schooner and had many a time taken the evil fall weather with a stout heart 'Twas a pity to scuttle her

Scuttle her? The skipper had much rather scuttle Tom Tulk! But pshaw!

after all 'twould but make more work for Newfoundland shi+p-builders

Would it never be known? Would the murder never out? Could Toun to fear To to the cook

To the cook!

”Pah!” thought the skipper, as he tipped his bottle, ”George Rumm knucklin' down to a cook! A pretty pass t' come to!”

Tommy Bull came down the ladder ”Skipper, sir,” said he, ”you'd best be on deck”

Skipper George went above with the clerk

”She's gettin' light,” said Tommy Bull

At that moment the skipper started With a hoarse ejaculation leaping fro eyes towards the hills upon which a shaft of sunlight had fallen Then he gripped Tommy Bull by the arm

”Who's that?” he whispered