His sudden appearance took the family completely by surprise. It took somebody else, who was not a member of the family, also by surprise, and that was Mr. Graves, the boat-builder, who had "just dropped in" at that early hour, to inquire if Mrs. Jennings had heard any news of Bob. He felt a great interest in him, he said, and was anxious to know what had become of him. The fisher-boy's mother, however, very soon discovered that he did not care so much about the welfare of her son as about the money Bob had promised to pay him for the Go Ahead No. 2.

Ever since the fisher-boy's disappearance, Mr. Graves had been a very miserable man. He had come to the conclusion that he had been sadly deceived in his customer, and he believed that Bob had run away to avoid paying the debt. This was enough to put him on nettles.

Although he was well off in the world, he was very "close" in all his dealings, and, in his eyes, twenty-six dollars was a small fortune. He had credited Bob for the skiff, not because he wished to assist him, but for the reason that he believed his customer's promise to pay was almost as good as the money. If the fisher-boy had been able to pay cash for his boat, he could have bought her for twenty dollars; but when the boat-builder found that he was expected to wait three months for his money, he had added five dollars to the price of the skiff for interest. It made no difference to him that he was rich and Bob poor. That was no fault of his. He had a right to make as much money as he could, and this was a lawful business transaction.

"I am sorry that it has turned out this way, Mrs. Jennings," said the boat-builder, "but I can't help it. Of course you can't expect me to build fine skiffs, like the Go Ahead No. 2, for nothing! I couldn't make a living by doing business that way."

"I am very sorry that you let Bob have that boat on credit," said Mrs. Jennings.

"So am I, when it is too late. If the boat was here, and in good order, I would take it back; but as it is gone, you, of course, will acknowledge that I ought to be paid for it. I didn't suppose that a boy who bore the reputation of your Robert would become such a rascal! It is plain enough to me that he has run away. I'll warrant that he is in South America by this time, and that you'll never see him——Bobby Jennings!"

The fisher-boy's appearance at this moment proved to Mr. Graves's entire satisfaction that he was not in South America. He stood in the door-way, flushed with excitement, breathing hard after his rapid run, and looking first at his mother and then at the boat-builder, who did not act as if he thought him a very great rascal. As soon as Bob had greeted his mother, he arose and shook hands with him, exclaiming—

"I am glad you have concluded to come back, Bobby."

"Concluded!" repeated the fisher-boy. That one word opened his eyes, and he imagined he knew the object of the boat-builder's visit. "You didn't suppose I had run away, did you?"

"Well, to tell the honest truth, we did, Bobby," replied Mr. Graves, settling back in his chair, as if he was willing to listen to any explanation the fisher-boy had to make. "You see, every thing pointed that way. You go in debt for a splendid little skiff, somebody steals her from you, you don't pay a cent on your note, and you suddenly disappear, and nobody knows were you have gone. What else could we suppose? There are no such things as kidnappers nowadays."

"There was such a thing as a Crusoe band, though!" replied Bob, who was astonished and indignant that any one should suppose him mean and dishonest enough to absent himself on account of a paltry debt of twenty-six dollars. He knew that all his acquaintances would be surprised at his absence, but he had never imagined that they would accuse him of running away.

"There was a—what did you call that band, Bobby?" inquired Mr. Graves, bending forward in his chair, and placing his hand behind his ear.

"What would I run away for?" demanded the fisher-boy, who did not feel disposed to favor his creditor with an explanation, after he had accused him so wrongfully. "My three months are not up yet, Mr. Graves. When the time comes you shall have your money."

"I hope so. I certainly hope so," said the boat-builder, picking up his hat, for he plainly saw that Bob did not want him there. "You will understand, of course, that the fact of your losing the boat does not affect the debt. Have I your promise that you will remain in the village?"

"Certainly, sir. I live here," replied the fisher-boy, rather coldly.

Mr. Graves bowed himself out, and returned to his ship-yard breathing a good deal easier. He was certain that his twenty-six dollars were safe. His mind was easy on that score, but his curiosity had been excited, and he would have been almost willing to give the price of the boat to know where his customer had been, and what he had been doing during his absence.

"Now, Bobby, tell me all about it," said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as the door had closed behind their visitor.

"Before I begin, mother, answer me one question," said the fisher-boy. "Did you believe that I had run away?"

"I did not," was the prompt reply.

Bob drew a long breath of relief. There was at least one person in the world who still had faith in him. Seating himself in a chair by his mother's side, he related his story just as he had told it to the executive officer of the Storm King, and wound up by saying—"I am not sorry for what has happened. I know that I have been kept from my work, but I have found my skiff, and now I am going after it."

Bob did go. He put a piece of candle in his pocket—for the lantern that had been used in the cave was on board the yacht—and started off without waiting for his breakfast, although he had not eaten a mouthful since the previous morning. He went straight to the wharf, and his appearance there occasioned a great commotion among the ferry-boys, who climbed out of their boats, and gathered about him, even neglecting the passengers who were waiting to be carried across the harbor.

"Where have you been, Bobby, an' where's Sam Barton, an' Bill Stevens, an' Jack Bennett, an' the rest of them fellers?" inquired half a dozen of the boys at once.

"If one of you will lend me a boat for ten minutes, and go with me, I'll tell you all about it," was Bob's reply.

Of course, the boys would go with him, and they could spare their boats for ten minutes, or for all day, for that matter. Of the boats offered him, the fisher-boy climbed down into the one that suited him best, and, to the no small amazement of the boys, sculled under the wharf. A half a dozen boats kept close behind him, their crews making unsuccessful attempts to induce Bob to tell them the meaning of his strange movements. The latter said nothing, until he had gathered all the boys about him in the cave, and then he told his story. If he had never had an appreciative audience before, he had one now, and he was obliged to relate over and over again the particulars of his capture and the fight with the dog, as well as all the other incidents that had transpired while he was a prisoner. Every one wondered what had become of the governor, and all were anxious to know what Bob intended to do with the members of the band. But, in this matter, the fisher-boy kept his own counsel.

After the ferry-boys had examined the cave to their satisfaction, and listened to all Bob had to say about Crusoe and his men, they assisted him in getting the Go Ahead No. 2 into the water. When Sam found that he would not be allowed an opportunity to dispose of the skiff, he had taken care to preserve every thing that belonged to her. The sail and the oars lay upon the thwarts, where they had been placed when the skiff was first brought into the cave, and so did the stake to which she had been chained. She was as good as new in every respect, and the fisher-boy could not refrain from shouting with delight, when he saw her floating in the water, under the pier.

Bob's story spread with great rapidity, and he soon found that he was quite a hero in the village. If he had felt so disposed, he could have spent half the day in relating his adventures to admiring listeners. But his time was too valuable to be wasted. He took four or five passengers across the harbor, who made a great many inquiries concerning the Crusoe band; but he answered them in as few words as possible, and, as soon as he could get away from them, he started for home. There he disposed of a hasty breakfast, and, an hour afterward, the Go Ahead No. 2 was anchored on his fishing grounds, and Bob was sitting with his line dangling in the water, thinking over his adventures, and waiting patiently for a bite. But, contrary to his expectations, he soon found that the fish were quite as able to resist the temptation of a bait suspended over the side of his fine skiff, as they had been when it was thrown to them from his old scow. His splendid boat made no difference with their biting; and at night, when he filled away for home, his fish-basket was as empty as when he made his last trip down the bay, in the old Go Ahead. Ferrying was a little more profitable. He carried eight passengers across the harbor that night, by which he made sixteen cents.

The fisher-boy had been indulging in the hope that the loss of his two boats, and his long absence from his work, would operate as a sort of charm to break the "streak of bad luck," that had so long attended him in his fishing and ferrying. But in this he was disappointed. The fish were as shy of his hook as they had been two months before, and one day on the harbor opened his eyes to the fact that his skiff was altogether too small. Morning and evening were the busy times with the ferry-boys, for then the ship-carpenters went to and from their work. There were so many boys in the harbor, that none of them could make more than one trip before the passengers were all carried across, and, consequently, the boy who had the largest and cleanest boat made the most money. For example, the yawl that Sam Barton had used would easily accommodate twenty-five persons, and Bob's skiff would not hold more than nine; so, while Sam made fifty cents with every "full trip," the fisher-boy made only eighteen.

Bob worked early and late, but luck was still against him, and, at the end of the week, he had saved only a dollar, which he paid into the hands of Mr. Graves, who indorsed it on the back of his note. During the second week, he laid by a quarter less, and he began to believe that his mother knew what she was talking about when she told him that it was a great deal easier to go in debt than to get out of it. How many times he wished for the five-dollar bill he had given Tom Newcombe to invest in the lottery!

During the month following, Bob led a most uncomfortable life. He gave up fishing, and finished Mr. Henry's pile of wood, for which he received six dollars, which was also paid to Mr. Graves. The day on which the note fell due came at last, and so did the boat-builder, who, in a business-like way, informed Bob that he still owed him seventeen dollars, and that he would "give him the benefit of the usual three days' grace." The fisher-boy did not know exactly what that meant, but he did know that it was simply impossible for him to raise so large an amount, of money in so short a time. How often did he wish that the forty dollars in gold, which his mother still preserved—although she had more than once been at a loss to know where the next meal was coming from—belonged to him! But he would as soon have thought of breaking into Mr. Newcombe's office, and stealing seventeen dollars, as to use a portion of that to pay for his boat.

On the third day after the visit of the boat-builder, as Bob was sculling slowly about the harbor, looking for passengers, he was hailed by a man on the wharf, who, as he came up, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, saying:

"I am collecting for Mr. Graves, and I have a little bill of seventeen dollars against you."

"I can't pay it," replied the fisher-boy, hanging down his head, and looking as mean as if he had been detected in robbing somebody's orchard.

"Well, then, my orders are to give you back your nine dollars, and to take the boat," said the man. "Mr. Graves says he has been sadly deceived in you. You told him a falsehood."

The loss of the boat was a severe blow to Bob, but the knowledge that his reputation had suffered by his failure to keep his promise, was still worse. But that was not all. Mr. Henry and Mr. Newcombe were standing upon the wharf, and there were several ferry-boys close by. The two gentlemen opened their eyes and looked at Bob in great surprise, while one of the ferry-boys, delighted to witness the discomfiture of a rival, whispered,

"Bobby's been tryin' to play the swell!"

"Hurrah for us! There's one more out of the way!" said another.

The fisher-boy laid the oars carefully upon the thwarts, passed the skiff's painter up to the collector, and climbed upon the wharf without saying a word. He took the note and the money the man handed to him, and stood watching him as he sprang down into the skiff, and pulled up the harbor toward the ship-yard. As soon as he disappeared among the shipping, Bob tore up the note, put his money into his pocket, and walked slowly homeward. He wanted to get out of sight of those two gentlemen, and away from the ferry-boys, who kept their eyes fastened on him as if he had been some curious wild animal. He felt like an outlaw, and it seemed to him that every man who passed him on the wharf, looked upon him with contempt.

"I'll always believe what mother says, after this," said the fisher-boy to himself. "I am out of debt now, and, if I don't keep out, I'll—"

"Ah, here you are!" exclaimed a voice, breaking in upon his reverie. "The best oarsman on Newport harbor! We've been looking for you! We want to go across!"

Bob looked up, and found his liberal passenger before him, the man who had paid him the forty dollars in gold by mistake. He had looked and watched for him every time he came into the harbor, and here he was, when he the least expected him. He was accompanied by two gentlemen, whom Bob knew to be sailors, from their style of dress.

"Come, come, boy!" exclaimed the man, talking very rapidly, "the captain and I are in a great hurry, and I know that you can set us over in a little less than no time. Where's your boat?"

"I haven't got any, sir!" replied the fisher-boy, with tears in his eyes. "But do you know how much you paid me when you were here before?"

"Yes; I promised you a dollar, and I gave it to you, didn't I?" said the man, pulling out his pocket-book. "Did I make a mistake? How much do I owe you? Speak quick, for I don't like to have even a small debt."

"You don't owe me any thing, sir," said Bob, as soon as he saw a chance to crowd a word in edgeways; "but I owe you forty dollars in gold, and if you will come home with me, I will pay it to you."

"You owe me forty dollars!" repeated the man. "How does that come?"

"Why, you made a great mistake, sir. You gave me two twenty-dollar gold pieces instead of the two silver half dollars you promised me."

"What a big dunce I was, and what a bigger dunce you are, for telling me of it," said the man, looking at Bob with an expression he could not understand. "Come on, captain, we've wasted time enough."

To the fisher-boy's astonishment, the man turned on his heel and walked off without saying a word more about the money. He shook hands with Mr. Henry, who was still standing on the wharf, and Bob heard him inquire, "Who is that boy?" He did not hear the reply, for the grocer turned his back to him. Bob thought if he had lost forty dollars, and some one should offer to return it, he would pay more attention to the matter; but perhaps the gentleman had so many twenty-dollar gold pieces that the loss of two of them did not trouble him. He talked with Mr. Henry until a yawl, which he had hailed, came up, and then he climbed down into it, saying to the grocer: "I will call at your store this afternoon." Upon hearing this the fisher-boy started for home again, intending to take the money to Mr. Henry, with a request that he would give it to the owner.

Mrs. Jennings was not at all surprised when Bob told her that Mr. Graves had taken his boat away from him. She only said it was "just what she had been expecting," and then listened patiently as the fisher-boy unfolded his plans for the future. They were not very numerous or complicated, for now that his skiff was gone, there was but one way in which he could earn a livelihood, and that was by doing odd jobs about the village. "As for going to sea," said Bob, "I have almost given it up. I never can save thirty dollars, and I'll have to be a fisherman as long as I live."

As he said this, he felt the tears coming to his eyes, and, to hide his emotion, he went out of the house, sat down upon the ground, and looked up at his mottoes, under the eaves. "I don't believe Mr. Newcombe told the truth," said he, unconsciously giving utterance to the thoughts that were passing through his mind.

"About what?" inquired a voice behind him. Bob looked up, and there was his liberal passenger again. Without stopping to reply to his question, the fisher-boy sprang to his feet and ran into the cabin. In a few moments he returned with the gold pieces, and found the gentleman trying to read the mottoes. He took the money when Bob offered it to him, without even thanking him, and, placing his finger upon one of the boards, inquired: "What's all this written here?".

"It's my motto," replied Bob, with some hesitation.

"It is written in Greek, isn't it? Read it. I would like to know what it is?"

The fisher-boy hesitated again. He was afraid the gentleman might laugh at him. When he first cut that motto there, he thought it was something worth remembering; but now he had almost lost faith in it. The man repeated his request, and looked at Bob so kindly that he complied and read:

"Be sure you are right, and then go ahead!"

"Do you always live up to that?"

"Not always," replied the fisher-boy, looking down at the ground; "I went ahead once when I knew I was wrong, and got into trouble by it."

"How did you come to select this for a motto?

"I heard Mr. Newcombe talking to Tom just before he sailed in the Savannah. He said: 'Be sure you are right, and then go ahead, and I'll answer for your success in life.'"

"And if Tom had been sensible enough to pay some attention to it, he would have been of some use in the world now," said the gentleman. "He goes ahead when he knows he is wrong, and that's the reason he gets into so much trouble. What's the other motto?"

"Owe no man a penny," replied Bob.

"That's another good one. All the advice I can give you is, to keep them constantly in mind."

As the man said this, he abruptly left Bob, and walked rapidly toward the wharf.

"Well," said the fisher-boy to himself, "he is the queerest man I ever saw."

Bob was astonished at his singular behavior, and about an hour afterward, while he was eating his dinner, he was still more amazed by the appearance of one of the sailors he had seen with Mr. Evans—for that was the name of his liberal passenger—who entered without knocking, and began his business without ceremony.

"I am Captain Coons, master of the ship Spartan, which is to sail from this port for China, day after to-morrow," said he. "Be gone three years, probably. Want a boy, and have been instructed by Mr. Evans, my owner, to pay you a hundred dollars advance. What do you say, Bob? Here's your chance. You needn't mind pumping for salt water about it, for I am in dead earnest. Here's the money if you'll say you will put down your name."

Bob could not say any thing immediately, for he found it impossible to speak. He looked at the roll of bills the captain held in his hand, then at his mother, and being unable to restrain himself any longer, he jumped up and ran out of the house. He did not shout, but he made a standing jump of eight feet and a-half, and then began to haul in an imaginary rope, hand over hand.

"What do I say, Bob?" said he to himself, in an excited whisper. "I say I'll go, and won't I do my best? Captain Coons's boots will shine so that he can see his face in them a mile off; and he'll never have to tell somebody to make the bunks over after me."

The fisher-boy did not say, "I'll soon be second mate, and then first mate, and then captain," as Tom Newcombe had done. His ideas extended no further, just then, than the faithful performance of his duties as boy.

Bob took a good many steps about the beach, and made several more long standing jumps before he worked off his excitement, and then he returned to the house, where he found the captain engaged in conversation with his mother. He saw, at a glance, that the matter had been settled during his absence, for his mother's purse lay upon the table, and it was larger than it had ever been before.

"Those mottoes did it, my lad," said the captain, after he had told Mrs. Jennings that Mr. Evans had heard all of Bob's history from the grocer. "They pleased my owner wonderfully; and he asked me to tell you to bear one thing in mind, and that is, that a steady, honest, industrious boy never wants for friends, be he rich or poor. I shall expect to see you on board the Spartan at six o'clock this evening."

Bob reported to the captain promptly at the hour. A small portion of his advance had been expended for an outfit; but when he stood on the deck of his vessel, and waved his farewell to his mother, he knew that he had left her provided for.

"That's what comes of giving back them gold pieces," said Xury, standing up in his boat and waving his hat to the fisher-boy. "If he had kept 'em, like the governor wanted him to do, he wouldn't be on board that fine ship now."

Every one of the members of the band saw Bob start on his voyage, and it must be confessed that they breathed easier than they had done for many a day, when they beheld his vessel shaping her course down the bay. The principal had dismissed them with a sharp reprimand, and, when they resumed their work in the harbor, they lived in a state of constant fear and excitement, expecting every moment to find Mr. Grimes after them with a warrant. The fact that Bob spoke to them very civilly whenever he met them did not make them feel secure, and not until they saw his vessel fairly out of the harbor, were they satisfied that he did not intend to have them punished for what they had done. Then every one of them was sorry that they had treated him so unkindly, and, if the fisher-boy had come back to the village, he never would have had any more trouble with the old members of the Crusoe band.

Tom Newcombe was there also. In spite of all his remonstrances and threats, the lieutenant had taken him before the principal of the academy, who sternly ordered him to go home. This made Tom more angry than ever, for he imagined the colonel had insulted him by treating him so coldly in the presence of the students, and he determined that he would yet be revenged upon him. What passed between him and his father no one ever knew; but all the clerks remarked that Tom worked harder, and that he spent less of his time in running around. His brain was as busy as usual, and in twenty-four hours after his release he had matured a plan for the organization of another secret society.

The future of a boy of Tom's habits is easily predicted. The only channel in which he ever exhibited any perseverance, was in holding to the belief that "nobody could teach him." To this opinion he clung as long as he lived, and, of course, he often got into trouble. His further adventures shall be related in "No Moss; or, the Career of a Rolling Stone."

THE END.