Jack was sitting on the side steps with a shoe in one hand and a blacking-brush in the other. It was nine o’clock Sunday morning and the late breakfast had been over for some time. From the open window of the kitchen, just over his right shoulder, the voices of Aunt Mercy and Susan, the maid, issued cheerfully. Somewhere upstairs Faith was moving about at her morning duties, singing like a thrush. It was a wonderful day. It gave promise of being seasonably warm later on, but just now the sunlight was but comfortably ardent and a little westerly breeze stole across the Neck and the harbor beyond, salty and cool. The house stood some thirty yards from the water, half-way up a little hill green with wild grass and the anemone and sheep-laurel. Herrick’s Cove was a tiny indentation in The Front, as the natives called the ocean side of the Neck, sufficiently protected by jutting ledges at the mouth to make a safe anchorage, with the hill at the back shielding it from the northerly and westerly storms. Between high water and the commencement of the slope a small, steep crescent of beach lay. Into the cove at one side ran a line of spiles supporting both a narrow plank, upon which an agile person could walk to the end, and a four-inch iron pipe. Against the farther spiles the Crystal Spring was moored. The pipe led up hill to the spring and when Jack wanted to fill the tank in the water boat he had only to lift the hatch, drop in the end of a length of cotton hose connecting with the pipe and turn a cock. The cove this morning was as blue as the sky above and as untroubled. The sloop, the tall spiles, and the jutting rocks were reflected as though in a mirror.

The house was a low two-story structure, painted white, with blinds which, originally green, had been wrought upon by the salt winds until they were now of a hue more blue than green. Along the south side of the house a flower bed was already in bloom with old-fashioned spring posies. (Aunt Mercy’s flowers always bloomed a week earlier than any on the Neck.) There was no fence about the house. The front door faced the road that ambled westward to the lighthouse and northward followed the harbor side, ever curving, until it reached the town. Across the road were other houses perched here and there between it and the harbor shore. The settlement was known as Herrick’s Cove, just as the cluster of houses at the other end of Neck was known as The Fort and the residences on the harbor edge half way to the canal, which divided Neck from town, was called The Center. Aside from these settlements Greenhaven Neck was a bare expanse of moorland with here and there a granite ledge lifting its head from the tangle of stunted trees and pepper-bush, sweet-fern, wax-berry and laurel and here and there a bog filled with sphagnum moss and cranberry. One or two summer cottages had gone up on The Front, but in the main, Nature still held full sway.

From where Jack sat on the side steps industriously shining his Sunday shoes he could look straight ahead along the dusty road to where the squatty stone lighthouse, dazzlingly white in the sunlight, stood firmly on its granite ledge. Beyond it, against the blue summer sky, a flock of gulls were circling and dipping, their plaintive, discordant cries coming to him on the breeze. Suddenly, above the hungry notes of the seagulls and the lisp of the west wind and the sounds from the house, came the steady chug, chug, chug of a motor boat. Idly, Jack wondered whose it was and arose to his feet to look. But the boat was hidden by the shore and he subsided again and gave a final brush to the shoe he held. Then he set it down beside its fellow, already polished, and began to whistle one of his tuneless airs, tapping time against the edge of the step below with the blacking brush. At that moment the chug of the motor boat grew suddenly louder and Jack looked down to the cove just as a white launch came around the corner. The boy in the bow at the wheel waved a greeting. Jack waved back and descended the slope. The engine stopped its chatter and the launch sidled up to a spile near the beach. Hal shouted a direction and Bee, leaving the wheel, clambered to the deck in front and picked up the painter. Then leaning toward the spile he sought to pass the end of the rope about it. The natural result was that he pushed the bow of the launch away and in a moment he was clutching the slippery post with his arms and striving to pull back the launch with his feet.

“Whoa!” he shouted. “Come back here! Hey, Hal, push her back!”

But Hal, having no boat-hook nor oar at hand, was helpless, and a moment later the launch had abandoned Bee to his fate and he was clinging to the spile with arms and legs. Jack, on the beach, shouted with laughter. Hal, pulling at an obdurate locker lid to get an oar, sputtered directions and advice.

“Hold tight, Bee! Just a minute! I’ll get an oar! Hang this thing! I can’t get it open! Reach up and grab the plank, Bee!”

But when Bee tried to adopt the latter suggestion he began to slip down the spile and so, with a yell of dismay, returned to his close embrace. By that time Jack had recovered from his amusement and went to the rescue. Climbing onto the plank, he hurried out and reached down a hand to Bee.

“Here, take hold and I’ll pull you up,” he said with a chuckle.

“If I do I’ll drop,” panted Bee. “Take hold yourself!”

So Jack got a grip around one of his wrists and finally Bee managed to wriggle up to the plank. Then he sat down, with his feet hanging over the water, and laughed until the tears came. And Hal, bobbing helplessly about in the middle of the cove, and Jack, clinging to the pipe, laughed with him.

“Did—did you see that launch trip me up?” gasped Bee finally. “And—and look at my Sunday-go-to-meeting suit! It’s all over green slime and crushed oysters! It’s completely spiled!”

“Oh, what a pun!” cried Hal. “Push him overboard, Jack!”

But Jack, viewing Bee’s clothes, had mercy. “You are in a mess, aren’t you?” he asked solicitously. “The crushed oysters, as you call them, will brush off, but that green stain will stick like anything. I’m awfully sorry, Mansfield.”

Bee viewed the front of his attire philosophically. “Well, anyway,” he said, “I won’t have to go to church today, will I? There’s nothing like looking on the bright side of misfortune. Throw us the line, Hal, and we’ll pull you in.”

“You run away and play,” replied Hal, working vigorously with an oar and making little headway. “The line won’t reach half-way there.”

“Well, keep on rowing, old chap. Only be sure and have the launch here by the time I want to go back. Come on, Herrick, let’s go ashore.”

“If you’d kept hold of the line when you had it,” muttered Hal.

“Get up in the bow,” Jack advised. “Then you can put your oar over either side.”

Following that direction, Hal made better progress and at last the launch was tied up to the spiling and Hal had clambered up beside the others. Then they filed ashore and walked up to the house. Bee said he “cal’ated” he wouldn’t go inside as he wasn’t very presentable and so they sat down on the steps.

“How does she run?” asked Jack.

“Like a breeze,” replied Hal enthusiastically. “She’ll be all right now, I guess, if I can keep Bee from meddling with the engine.”

“Humph!” said Bee. “The next time you break down out of sight of land you can do your own repairing.”

“I intend to; don’t you worry! Gee, but it’s swell over here, isn’t it, Bee?”

“Fine and dandy,” replied Bee. “Wish I lived here. Are those chicken-coops yours, Herrick?”

“Yes, but they’re lobster-pots,” laughed Jack.

“Oh!” said Bee blankly. Then, recovering quickly; “I meant chicken-lobster coops,” he explained. “Do you catch many?”

“No, not many nowadays. There used to be plenty of them, but they’re dying out. I’ve got a couple of pots out there now; see where those little red floats are, just beyond the cove? I haven’t looked at them this morning, but I guess there’s nothing in them.”

“Think of catching your own lobsters!” exclaimed Bee wonderingly. “Bet you I know one thing about lobsters you don’t think I do.”

“All right,” said Hal. “Go ahead, professor.”

“They aren’t red when you catch ’em. I forget who told me that. It’s cooking that makes them red. Clever, what?”

“Awfully,” laughed Jack. “And do you know what to use to open an oyster?”

“An ax, I suppose.”

“No, an oyster cracker.”

Bee looked dejectedly at Hal. “Isn’t he a cute little rascal?” he asked mournfully. “‘How do you open a clam? Answer: Use an oyster cracker.’ Isn’t that funny?”

“You’re a clam,” said Hal. “And, say, instead of wasting the golden moments asking conundrums, Bee, we’d better get down to business.”

“Right-o! Jack we have come to consult you on two subjects. In the first place, what are you going to do this afternoon?”

“Oh, forget about this afternoon,” exclaimed Hal, “and let’s get the name fixed up.”

“Everything in turn, old Hal,” replied Bee soothingly. “Let us dispose of the more important affairs first.” He looked enquiringly at Jack.

“This afternoon?” asked Jack. “I don’t know. What’s up?”

“Well, can you come with us and show us Nobody’s Island? Hal says he knows where it is and can go right to it, but I don’t trust him. Will you come along?”

“Yes, if you want me to. How are you going?”

Bee nodded toward the cove. “In that,” he said sadly. “Are you brave enough?”

“I’ll risk it if you fellows will,” Jack laughed. “We can keep close to shore, you know. What time?”

“What time do we have dinner, Hal?”

“Two, on Sundays.”

“My, that’s a long way off! Well, we will say at three, Mr. Herrick. How is that?”

“Any time’s all right for me. I’ll look for you about three or a little later. Are you still thinking of digging for old Verny’s treasure?”

“I certainly am! And if it’s there I’m going to find it! I’ve purchased a book entitled ‘Historical Greenhaven’ and have read all it has to say on the subject of Nobody’s Island and your old friend Verny. The book says that several times silver dollars and pieces of jewelry have been picked up on the beach there. That looks promising, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but I never really heard of but one silver dollar being found, and that was so worn that you couldn’t be certain it had ever been a dollar.”

“But the book says!”

“Oh, don’t be a mule, Bee! Don’t you suppose Jack knows what he’s talking about? Books tell all sorts of lies.”

“All right. But if there’s been one dollar picked up it shows that there are more there.”

“Just how do you figure that out?” asked Hal.

“Logic, my son, logic. That’s something you aren’t acquainted with. But never mind that now. I wrote a letter to my father last night, Herrick—Say, I’m going to call you Jack, if you don’t mind?—And I told him that I was organizing an expedition to search for buried treasure and that he was to send me fifty dollars immediately to outfit the expedition.”

Jack smiled. “Think you’ll get the fifty?” he asked.

“No, not more than twenty-five. But I’ve got twenty dollars now and so I’ll have enough. This thing is going to be done right, fellows; it’s going to be done scientifically. This afternoon we will look over the ground, do you see? Then I’ll know just what is necessary. In two or three days I’ll be ready to begin operations.”

“You’re a silly chump,” laughed Hal. “He won’t talk of anything but Nobody’s Island and hidden treasure, Jack! And he wants to go and camp out there and dig the whole place up!”

“Why not?” asked Bee. “Wouldn’t it be fun camping out, even if we didn’t find anything? Think of the good time we could have!”

“What would we eat?” asked Hal dubiously.

“Fish, which I would catch when I wasn’t digging, and all sorts of things in cans. We could take fresh meat with us, too, I guess. I wish you wouldn’t think so much about your old stomach, Hal.”

“Well, it’s the only one I have and it’s got to last me,” replied Hal untroubledly. “How about you, Jack? Want to join the party?”

“I’d like to awfully, but I don’t suppose I could. I have to stay with the ship down there. I haven’t camped out since I was a little bit of a chap. Maybe I could manage for a couple of days, say Saturday and Sunday.”

“How much,” asked Bee, “will you rent the Crystal Spring and your own personal services for by the week, Jack?”

Jack smiled. “I guess we aren’t for rent,” he said.

“Why not? I’m in earnest. I want you to go along and I’d feel a heap more safe if we had the sloop to depend on. Not that I don’t love that dear little launch down there, but just look what it did to me today! Now come on, like a good chap! What’s your figure?”

“Why—why, if you really mean it,” said Jack, “I guess you can have the Crystal Spring and her skipper for—well, about fifteen a week. That’s pretty near as much as I’ve been making lately.”

“Pretty near as much won’t do,” replied Bee emphatically. “I shall pay you twenty.”

“No, fifteen’s enough.”

“Twenty!”

“Compromise on seventeen-fifty,” advised Hal.

“All right! It’s a bargain, Jack. You’ll get your sailing orders in a day or two; say about Wednesday. We’ll go up or down or over or whatever it is in the sloop and haul the launch with us. We can use the launch for pleasure and the sloop for business.”

“I don’t see any need of having a whole blooming navy on hand,” objected Hal. “If we have the sloop we won’t need the launch, and if we have the launch—”

“Don’t mumble, Hal; talk right out if you have anything to say,” advised Bee. “Now, what time might it be? Great Scott, Hal, we’ll have to scoot!”

“Well, but—”

“Now never mind your ‘buts’; come along!” and Bee seized him by the arm and proceeded to drag him down to the cove. “You might as well learn discipline right now, old Hal. We’ll be back about three, Jack.”

“But we didn’t do anything about that name for the launch,” Hal objected. “I thought we were going to ask Jack—”

“We were, but more important affairs prevented. We’ll attend to that this afternoon. So long, Jack! Turn her over, Hal! That’s the ticket! Once more! There she blows! Reverse her, Hal; we’ll have to back out or sink the water boat. All right; slow ahead! Great work! We didn’t bump a thing! Three o’clock, Jack! Bye, bye!”