The three boys started guiltily and stared in consternation at the figure in the doorway, whose wide shoulders stretched almost from lintel to lintel. With the light behind him, it was impossible to see the face distinctly, but there was no mistaking that voice nor that figure. It was Bill Glass himself. Hal, courageous in the conviction of his wrongs, recovered first.

“We were looking around,” he said with a suspicion of insolence that made Bee glance uneasily at the window. “You have so many interesting things here, Mr. Glass, and I’ve been wondering where you—” Bee made up his mind to sell his life dearly—“got them all.”

Bee in his relief subsided in the rocking chair. Bill Glass entered the cabin with a rumbling chuckle that seemed to start at his shabby boots and grow in volume all the way up.

“Interestin’s just the word, shipmate. Some o’ them things could tell stories what would make them eyes o’ yours stick plumb out o’ your head if they could talk. Sit ye down, mates, sit ye down. Nice kind o’ weather for the time o’ year.”

“I guess we’ll be going,” said Jack carelessly. “We just thought we’d drop in. Not finding you at home, we took the liberty of looking around.”

Bill nodded soberly. “Right you be, right you be. I thought maybe, though, you seen me goin’ out that time you waved to me.”

“Oh, was that you in the dory?” asked Bee innocently.

“That was me, mate, but I cal’ate you couldn’t tell at that distance.”

“Oh, we knew you,” said Hal rashly and rudely. “What’s more, we’re getting to know you better all the time.”

Bill Glass blinked untroubledly. “That’s right, mate. We be neighbors in a way o’ speakin’ an’ neighbors ought for to be friendly. I take it kind o’ ye to call, mates.”

Jack couldn’t make up his mind whether the man was speaking sarcastically or not. “You—you’ve got a real cosy place here,” he murmured.

“It does well enough for a chap like I be,” agreed Bill. “Not much in the way o’ luxury, you see, but comfortable, comfortable. I ain’t a-sayin’ that I wouldn’t like a fine house on Church Hill, mates, an’ a carriage to drive about in an’ servants to wait on me, but I be contented, I be contented. There’s many that lives in fine state an’ ain’t no happier’n I be; not so happy, likely. It’s a clean conscience, mates, as brings joy and happiness. Poor I be, but honest. That’s me, shipmates all, Honest Bill Glass.”

“That’s a nice pair of oars you have out there,” said Hal with apparent irrelevancy.

“Eh? Oh, them oars. Yes, they be a good pair.”

“I see you’ve just painted them,” Hal pursued in spite of the appealing glances of Bee and Jack.

“Yes, I have to do that mates, so’s they won’t be taken by mistake. Them Portigees ain’t particular whose oars they row with. That’s why I likes to have ’em a distinguishin’ color, so to speak. Now if you had had your oars painted mates, I guess maybe you wouldn’t have lost ’em.”

“We didn’t lose them; they were stolen from us,” replied Hal sharply.

“But what,” interposed Jack hurriedly, “is to keep anyone from painting them over another color?”

“Well, they might, an’ that’s a fact, but they ain’t so likely to. Haven’t found your oars yet, have ye?”

“No, not yet,” Jack replied. “We haven’t had time to look around much.”

“We know where they are, though,” said Hal meaningly. “I guess we won’t have to look very far for them.”

“I want to know! Well, I was thinkin’ as how maybe you’d like to buy a good pair. That pair there might suit ye an’ I’d let ’em go right down cheap; say two dollars to you, mates.”

Hal grew so red in the face that Bee feared results and so jumped to his feet. “Let’s—let’s go out and look at them,” he stammered nervously.

“We’ve got a new pair,” exploded Hal, “and I wouldn’t buy those from you, anyway, you—you—”

“That’s so,” cried Jack hurriedly. “We bought a pair yesterday. You see, we went to town after you left us. We bought a boat-hook too, and—and other things.”

“Did ye now?” asked Bill regretfully. “I wish I’d known ye was intendin’ to buy. I could have sold you oars cheap. An’ I’ve got a boat-hook ye might have had too.” He blinked benevolently as he followed them outside. The sun had appeared at last and the mist was rolling inland across the marsh. Hal, almost choking with repressed emotion, was dragged aside by Jack.

“Don’t be silly,” begged the latter. “There’s no use in getting the old chap down on us. There’s no telling what he might do; set fire to the sloop, perhaps, or steal the launch. It doesn’t do any good, Hal.”

“Oh, all right,” muttered Hal, “but those are my oars, and he knows it! And you heard what he just said about the boat-hook!”

“Yes, but it may not be yours, and—”

“It is mine!” He turned suddenly toward Bill Glass. “Say, I might buy that boat-hook if you don’t want too much for it. May I have a look at it?”

“Cert’nly! Cert’nly!” Bill walked over to the shed and fumbled for a moment amongst a pile of stuff on the rafters.

“I’ll know it in a minute if it’s mine,” whispered Hal. “It was brand new and—”

“Here ye be, mate.” Bill Glass came back with the article in his hands. “Pretty nigh as good as new it be, too.”

Jack and Bee grinned at the expression of surprise and disappointment that overspread Hal’s countenance as he looked at the boat-hook. It was weather-stained to the hue of an old fence-post and the brass hook on the end was covered deep with verdigris. Jack thought that Bill Glass had a mocking twinkle in his good eye as he offered the implement for inspection. Hal, however, took one disgusted look at it and waved it away.

“I don’t want it,” he said ungraciously. “It isn’t the one—I mean it’s too old. Come on fellows!”

“Fifty cents takes it,” urged Bill. “It’s a bargain, mate.”

But Hal was marching straight for the wharf and Bee and Jack followed perforce. Bill Glass ambled along behind, boat-hook in hand. He watched silently while Jack unfastened the painter and Hal kicked the switch on angrily and twirled the fly-wheel over. Then, with the engine running, he remarked:

“Cute things, they be, them motor-boats. Times I think I’ll have to get me one, mates.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Bee involuntarily. Luckily the humming of the engine partially drowned his voice. Hal threw the lever forward and the Corsair made a rush across the little basin as though determined to climb the further bank.

“Hey!” bawled Jack at the wheel. “Whoa, for the love of mud!”

Hal made a clutch at the throttle with one hand and pulled back the lever with the other just in time. Jack, scampering across the little decking forward, tried to fend the boat off the bank with his feet, but the momentum buried her nose a foot deep in the mud and sand.

“Reverse her slowly, Hal!” he called. Hal, completely flustered by this time, threw the lever forward again. The propeller churned wildly and the Corsair dug further into the bank.

“Don’t cal’ate,” observed Bill Glass mildly from the wharf, “you can go much further in that direction, mates.”

Hal finally got the lever at reverse and, after a moment’s struggle, the Corsair backed out into the pool. Jack spun the wheel, Bee fended the launch away from the wharf and at last she was straightened out. “All right,” called Jack. “Let her go!”

The launch poked her nose down-stream and Bill Glass waved politely with a big brown hand. “Come again, mates,” he rumbled, “come again. If I ain’t here, just make yourselves to home!”