Had a thunderbolt fallen upon the wharf and burst at their very feet, Tom could not have been more astonished than he was when these words fell upon his ear. A great lump seemed to be rising up in his throat, his eyes were blinded with tears he could not choke back, and it was only after a desperate effort that he recovered the use of his tongue.

"O, now, Bob, you haven't read that letter right," he almost gasped.

"Yes, I have!" replied the fisher-boy, whose amazement and consternation were fully equal to Tom's. "I read every word of it just as it is written. Here's the letter; read it yourself!"

"O, now, I won't do it!" drawled Tom, who, suddenly losing all his self-control, and forgetting, in his excitement, that people were constantly passing up and down the wharf in plain view, threw himself spitefully down upon the boards and cried aloud.

"I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world!" he sobbed, "and something is always happening to bother me. I never can do any thing like other fellows. I knew all the time just how it would turn out!"

"You did!" exclaimed Bob. "Then why did you urge me to spend my money so foolishly?"

"O, now, I don't know!" Tom almost yelled. "I'll jump in the harbor!"

"Don't talk so loud," said the fisher-boy, who, although quite as much affected as Tom, succeeded in controlling himself. "There are some men looking at us."

"I don't care!" replied Tom, recklessly. "It will be all over the village by this time to-morrow. I've been the biggest kind of a dunce!"

"So have I, in more ways than one. I'm ruined now, and I have a good mind to jump into the harbor myself. Here's your letter!"

"O, I don't want to see it! Take it away! Throw it overboard! Tear it up!" cried Tom, his tears bursting out afresh. "I wish I had ten dollars more, to send on for that lucky package."

"It would only be money wasted," said Bob. "The whole thing is a humbug!"

"I know better," shouted Tom. "You'll never be a rich man so long as you allow your doubts to stand in your way. What will all the fellows say when they find out that I ordered that splendid little yacht, and then couldn't pay for her?"

Tom cried harder than ever as he asked this question, which excited a serious train of reflections in the mind of the fisher-boy. What would his mother say to him when she learned that he had squandered five dollars of his money, and told her a falsehood besides?

"O, get away from me, now, Bob Jennings!" roared Tom, whose disappointment seemed to have turned his brain. "I don't want you or any body else near me."

"Good by!" said the fisher-boy. "If you are going to keep up that howling you had better get away from here yourself. You'll raise the town in five minutes more!"

As Bob spoke he gave one more glance at the letter which, from the very pinnacle of hope and joy, had plunged them into the lowest depths of despair, and then walked slowly away.

Neither of these two boys was in an enviable position just then; but bad as was Tom's condition, the fisher-boy's was infinitely worse. Deeply in debt, his boat and money gone, the family entirely destitute of provisions, it was no wonder that Bob thought his lot in life a hard one, and that he should feel utterly discouraged. It seemed to him that the last three weeks of his life had been a dream. It had certainly been a pleasant one, for he had lived in a little world of his own creation, and had been free from all cares and troubles. The loss of his fine skiff—a misfortune which, had he been in his sober senses, would have alarmed him—he had regarded as something scarcely worth thinking about. He had been so fully occupied in contemplating the bright future which his imagination had pictured for him, that matters to which he should have given his immediate attention were deemed unworthy of notice. But just when he imagined himself on the eve of seeing all his glorious anticipations realized, he had been suddenly and rudely awakened, only to find himself still a fisher-boy, and, what was worse, the poorest one in the village. He had good reason for feeling down-hearted. The failure of Tom's splendid scheme was a serious matter for him, and it was a long time before he could recover from the shock which the reading of the letter had given him. For two or three hours he walked listlessly about, scarcely knowing where he was, or what he was doing, and it was not until it began to grow dark, and the wharves were deserted, that he was able to muster up courage enough to think the matter over calmly.

His disappointment, although he thought it a very severe blow, was just what he needed. It did away with his delusion and his ideas about acquiring riches without labor, destroyed every one of the foolish notions Tom had put into his head, and, from that hour, Bob Jennings was himself again. He knew that, before he made any attempt to get out of his difficulties, he ought to try to make some amends for what he had done. He knew, also, right where he ought to begin; and, better than all, he had the moral courage to do what he believed to be right in the matter. He went home at a more rapid pace than he had exhibited for many a day, and found his mother engaged in sewing by the light of a solitary candle.

While Bob had been idling away his time, and waiting for fortune to come to him, she had worked early and late to earn the money to buy the food he ate. She had used very sparingly of his little fortune, never spending a cent of it unless it was absolutely necessary, while he had, at one time, deliberately thrown away five dollars of it; or, what was the same thing, given it to support a couple of professional swindlers in their idleness.

The fisher-boy did not waste time in thinking how he ought to begin the conversation, for a single glance at his mother's pale, patient face made the load on his conscience heavier than ever, and he was anxious to get rid of it as soon as possible. With tears of genuine repentance, and repeated promises of amendment, Bob told the story of his mistake, and of the deception of which he had been guilty. He did not try to defend himself by making excuses, but was manly enough to make a clean breast of the whole matter; he freely confessed his fault, and begged her forgiveness. Then he felt a great deal better; and, for the first time in three weeks, he was able to look his mother in the face. During those weeks of inactivity she had had no word of fault to find with Bob, and she had none now; but she had some good advice to give him, and the fisher-boy, having been thoroughly convinced by his recent experience that his mother's knowledge of the world was superior to his own, listened attentively to every word of it, and mentally resolved that he would never take a step in any direction without first asking her permission and advice.

It was midnight before the conversation ceased, and Bob, who did not feel at all sleepy just then, took a sharp-pointed case-knife from the cupboard and went out. He walked around behind the house, and by the light of the moon, which was shining brightly, read over his motto. "I'll never forget it again," said he. "If I had only been wise enough to keep it in mind, I never would have been in this miserable scrape."

Having given utterance to this opinion, Bob went to work with his knife, and at the end of an hour, another motto had been cut in the boards under the first. He then went to bed, well satisfied with what he had done, and believing that he had taken the first step toward extricating himself from his difficulties. The next morning he was up with the sun, and, shouldering a saw-horse, he set out for Mr. Henry's store.

"Have you hired a man to saw that wood?" he asked of the grocer.

"No," was the reply, and it sent a thrill of gladness through the heart of the fisher-boy. "If you want the job, I'll give you seventy-five cents a cord for sawing and splitting it."

Bob accepted the offer, and in five minutes more, he had begun the work of retrieving his fortune.

Meanwhile Tom Newcombe was stepping gayly about the office, performing his duties with more than usual alacrity; and one, to have seen him, would have little imagined that he had passed the most miserable night of his existence. He had never once closed his eyes in sleep; for, while he tossed uneasily about on his bed, he kept his brain busy trying to study up some plan to get himself out of his troubles. He could not bear the thought of giving up that splendid little vessel, after she had been built according to his orders, and he had so faithfully promised to be on hand with the money as soon as she was completed. He had so confidently expected to own and sail her himself, that he was sure that it would be a death-blow to him if he should see her pass into the possession of any one else. He knew that the matter could not be kept a secret much longer, for when Mr. Graves found out that he had no money to pay for the yacht, he would very likely take the trouble to call upon Mr. Newcombe. That would be a calamity indeed; for Tom knew that if the facts of the case came to his father's ears, he might bid good-by to all hopes of ever owning the vessel. He had believed that his twenty-five hundred dollars would come to hand so that he could settle with the boat-builder before his father should hear of what was going on; and, possession being nine points of law, he hoped that the merchant would raise no objection to his keeping the Storm King. But he had been disappointed in receiving the prize, and now he was trying to decide upon some plan to raise the four hundred dollars, or, at least, to secure possession of the vessel. This was, by far, the most difficult task he had yet undertaken; and for a long time it proved to be more than he could manage. But Tom was fruitful in expedients, and about midnight he suddenly sprung up in his bed and clapped his hands for joy. He had at last discovered a way out of his difficulties.

"That's it!" said Tom to himself, after he had thought the matter over. "I'll have that yacht yet! It takes just me to get up schemes. I'm all right, and now I'll go to sleep."

But that was easier said than done. He was intensely excited over his new project, and it kept him as wide-awake as his trouble had done before. Contrary to his usual custom he answered the breakfast bell promptly, and, in spite of the sleepless night he had passed, appeared at the table as bright as a lark. After eating a very light breakfast, he went down to the office, where he performed his duties in a very short space of time. Then he caught up his cap and ran out upon the wharf, where he found the fisher-boy at work at his wood-pile.

"You're just the very man I am looking for!" said Tom. "Quit that job and come with me!"

"What's up now?" asked Bob. "You seem to be in good spirits this morning!"

"I should say I was!" replied Tom, snapping his fingers, and stepping gayly about the wharf; "and why shouldn't I be? We are all right now!"

"Are we?" exclaimed Bob, eagerly. "Has our money come, after all?"

"No, not yet! I'm going to send for it again in a week or two. But I own the Storm King, Bob! That's one settled fact!"

"You do! Have you raised the four hundred dollars?"

"That's my business! I've got her; she belongs to me, individually; and now I want to hire a crew. Will you ship as first mate?"

"I think not!" said the fisher-boy, shaking his head, doubtfully.

"What's the reason? I'll give you a dollar a day, and I know that's more than you can make by sawing wood."

"Has your father bought—"

"O, now, never mind talking about my father!" drawled Tom, impatiently. "It is enough for you to know that the yacht is mine, and that I am able to hire you. Will you go?"

"No; I think I had better stay ashore!" said the fisher-boy. "You're a regular Jonah, Tom, and, to tell the truth, I am afraid of you. I wonder that they didn't have to throw you overboard from the Savannah when you made your voyage to Callao."

"O, now, look here, Bob Jennings!" whined Tom, "I want you to quit calling me a Jonah! If you are afraid to ship with me, I can find some one else. I have tried to help you along in the world, but I'll never make you another offer as long as I live."

So saying, he turned angrily on his heel and left the fisher-boy, who again turned his attention to his wood-pile. Tom bent his steps toward Mr. Graves's ship-yard, and the first thing he saw, as he entered the gate, was the Storm King, riding proudly at her moorings in the harbor, with her sails hoisted, all ready for the start. Three or four men, who comprised the crew that was to manage her during the trial trip, were lounging about the decks, and Mr. Graves stood on the beach talking to a crowd of eager, excited boys, who were examining the yacht with critical eyes, and begging the boat-builder to reveal to them the name of the owner. Although Tom could not hear what was said, he had no difficulty in guessing the subject of the conversation, and his heart swelled high within him when he thought what a commotion would be occasioned in that crowd of boys, when it became known that he was the captain and owner. Drawing himself up to his full height, throwing back his shoulders, and assuming what he considered to be a very commanding air, he walked leisurely down to the beach. The boys, seeing him approach, made way for him, and Mr. Graves called out:

"Good morning, captain! We are all ready, as you see."

Since the vessel was completed and ready for sea, the boat-builder thought there was no further necessity for keeping the affair a secret. If Tom wanted to create a sensation what better chance could he have?

"Captain!" chorused all the boys, crowding up around Tom. "Do you own that beautiful yacht, Newcombe?"

"I do!" was the very dignified reply.

"Well, you're a lucky fellow," exclaimed one.

"You've got the best father in the world!" said another.

"Are you ready, captain?" asked Mr. Graves, stepping into a skiff and picking up the oars. "If you are, we'll go aboard!"

"Are you going to sea, Newcombe?" eagerly inquired a dozen boys. "Let us go with you!"

Tom's time for revenge had come at last. There were, perhaps, thirty or forty boys present, a good portion of whom had belonged to the Night-hawks, and the remainder were "Spooneys," with whom he never associated. He had several times run his eye over the group, but he could not discover a single friend in it. Every one of the boys, at some time or other, had failed to treat him with the respect due the son of the wealthiest man in the village, and now Tom had an opportunity to show them that he had not forgotten it. Without taking the trouble to reply to their request, he jumped into the skiff, turned his back to the boys, and said:

"Shove off, Mr. Graves!"

The boat-builder pushed off from the beach, and Tom, whose whole soul was wrapped up in his beautiful craft, did not even condescend to cast a parting glance toward the crowd of boys behind him.

A few strokes of the oars brought the skiff alongside the Storm King, and the men who were lounging about the decks, arose to their feet and saluted Tom as he clambered over the side.

"Here she is!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who had followed close behind Tom. "Now, will you take command?"

"No, I believe not," replied the boy, stroking his chin and gazing about him with the air of one who considered himself a judge of a good boat. "She doesn't belong to me yet, so you may just consider me a visitor."

"All right," replied the boat-builder. "I thought, perhaps you would be impatient to get control of her. When I was a boy of your age, I never allowed a chance to play captain pass unimproved."

"Perhaps you were not as reckless as I am," said Tom, who could think of no other excuse to make for not wishing to take charge of the little vessel. "I am a great hand to carry sails, and I might lose this mast overboard!"

"Well, I'll be captain then," said Mr. Graves. "All hands stand by to get ship under-way."

As the sails were all spread, the work of getting under-way was very speedily accomplished. One of the crew took his place at the wheel, another cast off the line with which she was made fast, and in half a minute's time the Storm King was moving down the harbor.

One thing that not a little astonished Tom was, the perfect cloud of canvas he saw above him. He had told Mr. Graves that he wanted his yacht to have all the sail she could carry; and, according to Tom's idea, she was supplied with a great deal more than could be spread with safety even in the lightest breeze. But Mr. Graves thought differently. He had hoisted every inch of the canvas, and Tom's amazement increased when he witnessed the exhibition of speed the little vessel made. He was not the only one who was astonished, for the yacht very soon began to attract the attention of the people on both sides of the harbor, who shouted and waved their hats as she dashed by. Tom kept watch for the fisher-boy, and presently discovered him standing upon the top of his wood-pile, where he had climbed to obtain a better view of the boat. Tom knew he was astonished, and he wished that he could have been near enough to hear what he had to say about it; but when Bob waved his hat to him, he turned and walked over to the other side of the vessel. He could not forget that the fisher-boy had called him a Jonah.

In a very few minutes the yacht cleared the harbor and entered the bay. There she felt the full force of the wind, which was blowing briskly, and, like an unruly horse which takes the bits in his teeth and runs away, the Storm King seemed determined to escape from the control of her crew, or, failing in that, to sweep them from her deck by running entirely under the water. In fact, she went at such a rate that Tom began to be alarmed, and nervously asked Mr. Graves if he hadn't better shorten sail.

"No, indeed!" was the reply. "This is delightful. Besides, she is a new craft, and I want to find out what she can do. I should think an old sailor like you would enjoy it."

"O, I do!" answered Tom, clinging to the rail for support; "but she might carry away her mast, or something, you know!"

"I'll risk that! Every thing about her was made at my ship-yard, and I know it is first-class."

Tom tried hard to bring himself to believe that there was no danger, but the sloop careened so wildly, and threw the spray about so recklessly, that it terrified him, and, to save his life, he could not conceal the fact.

In order to thoroughly test the qualities of the yacht, Mr. Graves put her through a variety of evolutions, he sailed before the wind, beat up against, and finally declared that he could make her run square into the wind's eye. She behaved splendidly in every instance; and Tom was seaman enough to know that she was a prize, and that the happy owner of her would be envied by every boy in the village. Her sailing qualities, however, were not her only attractions, as Tom discovered when Mr. Graves conducted him down the companion-ladder into the cabin. He was more amazed then ever at the scene presented to his view; and, indeed, that was not to be wondered at, for the little cabin was fitted up like a palace. The bulkheads were finished off with black walnut, the floor was carpeted, and the furniture was as fine as any in Mr. Newcombe's parlors. There were two small windows in the stern, and under them was a sofa where the captain might lie down and take his after-dinner nap. At the head of the sofa was a desk, which Tom found to be supplied with writing materials of every description, and on a small table, that stood in the middle of the cabin, were one or two charts (which would have been of no possible use to Tom), a spy-glass, and several books and papers. On each side of the cabin a door opened into the cosiest little state-rooms that Tom had ever seen. They were both of the same size, nicely furnished, and supplied with beds, wash-stands, and looking-glasses.

After Tom had examined every thing in them to his satisfaction, Mr. Graves conducted him through a door that led from the cabin into the hold. It was dry and airy, and large enough to contain all the merchandise that Tom was likely to put into it. From the hold they went into the galley, which was furnished with a small stove, and with all the pots, pans, and kettles, that any cook could possibly find use for. Tom was delighted with every thing he saw, but, after all, he did not look much like a boy who expected soon to be the owner of the finest little yacht about the village. Indeed, he was by no means certain that she would ever belong to him; for, while Mr. Graves was conducting him about the vessel, and explaining every thing to him, he kept saying to himself:

"O, now, I wonder if I shall ever be captain of this boat! What shall I do if my new plan fails?"