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Billy nodded. "Me an' Jim Scroggie bought him from Mr. Johnston, an' we got a receipt provin' our ownership, too, you bet. This is how we did it. 'Long 'bout the second er third day after ol' Thomas disappeared me an' Jim met up with Johnston walkin' home from school to Fairfield where he boards. Jim had fifty dollars, all his own, an' we'd planned jest what we'd say to the teacher.,

"I should like to know," he exclaimed, and every ear on board the schooner was bent to catch his accents, with the greed with which a crowd of men might be supposed to extend their hands to catch a shower of gold flung amongst them from a height, "if you have seen anything of the French Fleet under Admiral Villeneuve?",

"Good lads!" cried Cobin heartily, "Ma, hear that? They found ol' Junefly. Wasn't that smart of 'em, an' in all that rain, too.",

Billy was watching him closely. "Pa," he said earnestly, "there's something else I might as well let you know while I'm about it. This man Hinter owns a schooner, er leastways is boss of one, an' it was her brought them drillin' rigs 'cross the lake. The boat's been layin' along the Point, a mile out from shore fer more'n a month now, an' Hinter has been keepin' in touch with her right along."

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"Hallo!" was the answer from Captain Weaver.,

Mr. Johnston was certainly doing justice to the crisp ham and eggs on the platter before him. Occasionally he lifted his black eyes to flash a look at his host, who was entertaining him with the history of the settlement and its people.,

It was, of course, as Mr Lawrence had foreseen. Eagle had betrayed Mr Lawrence's confidence, and Pledge manifestly was thirsty[Pg 302] to carry the report into the forecastle. As this was a part of Mr Lawrence's programme his mind made no other comment upon it than that he was pleased to discover that honest John Eagle, as Captain Acton held him, was a rogue who could not keep a secret although imparted by so exalted a personage as the commander of a ship, and that in breaking his promise the sour, shallow-minded mate was doing exactly what Mr Lawrence wished.,

The place which old Harry O'Dule called home was a crumbling log cabin on the shore of Levee Creek, just on the border of the Scroggie bush. Originally it had been built as a shelter for sheep, but with the clearing of the land it had fallen into disuse. O'Dule had found it on one of his pilgrimages and had promptly appropriated it unto himself. Nobody thought of disputing his possession, perhaps because most of the good people of Scotia inwardly feared the old man's uncanny powers of second sight, and the foreshadowing—on those who chose to cross him—of dire evils, some of which had been known to materialize. Old Harry boasted that he was the seventh son of a seventh son.