Sabbath morning, after a rainy day and night, Charlie waking up, and looking, as he usually did the first thing, in the direction of Captain Rhines’s, missed the great bulk of the Ark, which before seemed to fill up the whole cove. The wind was north-west, and blowing a gale.

“Father,” he shouted, “the Ark is gone! I can’t see her at all.”

“Well,” replied Ben, “she has got a wind that will shove her over the gulf.”

On the summit of the middle ridge stood the tallest tree on the island, with an eagle’s nest on it. Beside it grew a large spruce, whose top reached to its lower limbs, and next to the spruce a scrub hemlock, whose lower limbs came almost to the ground. Charlie had made a bridge of poles from the spruce to the pine, and used to sit there, when the wind blew, till the tree shook so much that it frightened him, or the eagles came to their nest; but, after a while, they became so accustomed to him as to take fish from the limbs where he placed it. You could step from the ground to the hemlock, from that to the spruce, and from the spruce walk on the bridge to the pine. To this they went with the glass, saw the masts of the Ark just going out of sight, and watched them till they were lost in the distance.

It was impossible, now that the bustle and excitement of fitting away was over, for Ben to be otherwise than anxious respecting the result of this venture, and the safety of his father and friends in so strange a craft. But he kept his thoughts and misgivings (if he had any) to himself, though he afterwards said that it was the longest Sabbath he ever spent.

At night, after Charlie had gone to bed, Sally asked Ben what he was going about. He replied, to hew a barn frame; that, as he was going to raise crops, he must have some place to put them.

“I suppose you can do that kind of work alone, well enough?”

“Yes.”

“While it is pleasant weather, I would give Charlie a holiday, and let him ask John and Fred Williams to come over here; it would please him very much, and I really think he deserves it.”

“So do I. I’ll tell him in the morning that he may go over and get them. They say there isn’t a better behaved, smarter boy in town than Fred Williams, for all he was such a scape-grace a few months ago.”

“I’ll tell him to-night, and then he can go as soon as he likes.”

She woke up Charlie, and told him the good news, which kept him awake a long time, laying plans for the amusement of his company. The next morning he set off betimes, arriving at Captain Rhines’s just as they were sitting down to breakfast, where he received a hearty welcome.

When John heard that he had come to invite him and Fred to spend a week on the island, he could no longer contain himself. He clapped his hands, and unable to find language to express his delight, hugged every one at the table, and finished by hugging Tige.

“O, mother! only see Tige,” who, participating in the unusual joy, was frisking round the room, and wagging his tail; “I declare if I had a tail I’d wag it, too. Don’t you wish you was going?”

“I’ll invite him,” said Charlie; and, taking him by the paw, he said, “Tige Rhines, Mr. Benjamin Rhines, wife, and baby invite you to make them a visit, with John and Fred Williams.”

“Mother, he knows what it means, and is as glad as I am; see, he is going to roll.”

After rolling over, he remained a few moments on his back, his paws stuck up in the air, apparently in joyous meditation. As this was Tige’s method of manifesting the very acme of happiness, we are bound to suppose, with John, that he knew what was in store for him.

“John, I can’t spare Tige; he is my protector when your father is gone; and we need him, too, now that the fruit is ripe, to watch the orchard, and also to get the cows for us.”

The boys now set off for Fred, whom they found in the mill, taking charge, as his father was gone; but at noon he would return, and might let him go, though it was doubtful, as they were very busy indeed in the mill; and the tears almost stood in his eyes as he said so.

The boys looked at the mill, and helped Fred a while, and then caught fish in the mill-pond; for it was a tide-mill, though there was a brook ran into it. When the gates were open, and the tide from the sea flowed in, the fish—smelts, tom-cod, and sometimes small mackerel, called “tinkers,” came with it. When tired of fishing they went to look at the ducks. Fred had nearly a hundred ducks, that spent the greater part of their time in the mill-pond. Never did ducks have a better time than Fred’s; they had plenty of corn from the mill, and when the pond was full they fed upon the insects and little fish that live in the salt water; but when the pond became low they resorted to the brook.

About a quarter of a mile up this little stream was a place where some windfalls had partially dammed the water, forming a little pond, in which were myriads of frogs, tadpoles, polliwogs, and turtles of all sizes. It was a great amusement to the boys to see them, as the pond diminished, preparing to go up the brook, each old duck followed by her own family. Being of many different colors, their glossy heads and backs shining in the sun as they sailed up in regular order to give battle to the frogs, they looked gay indeed. Charlie caught two of the small turtles to take home with him.

At noon, when Mr. Williams came home, he received the boys very kindly, and told them he was glad to have Fred go with them, as he had been a good boy, and worked nobly all summer, and that he might stay as long as they wanted him to. He then invited them to stop and dine with Fred. As for Tige, little Fannie took him under her special care, and shared her dinner with him.

As they were going along Fred said to John, “This is the very line I carried the day I played truant, and stuck the hook in me. How much better I feel now than I did then. In those days I used to come sneaking home at night with a guilty conscience, and the fear of being found out spoilt all the comfort; but I tell you I felt about right to-day, and couldn’t help thinking of it when father praised me up so much before you, and was so willing to spare me, though he will have to work very hard while I’m gone.”

“I never disobeyed my father,” replied John, “because I never wanted to; but I’ve often done wrong, and if every boy feels as bad as I do about it, there can’t be much comfort in it.”

“I don’t believe,” said Charlie, “that boys who have nothing to do but play are as happy as we that work, for, when we get a holiday, we enjoy more in one hour than they do in a week.”

“I am glad,” continued Fred, “that I took up with Uncle Isaac’s advice, and staid at home, for, had I gone to Salem, I should probably have found other companions as bad as Pete Clash, and being away from all restraint, been worse than ever, and perhaps have come to the gallows.”

“It’s too late to do much to-night,” said Charlie, as they landed; “let’s go up to the great maple, and talk and lay plans. You’ve never seen the great maple—have you, Fred?”

“No; you know I never was on here, only in the winter, when everything was frozen up, and covered with snow.”

Going along, they came to the two great trees which were connected by a common root, making a natural bridge across the brook, which, above them, widened out into a little basin.

“What a nice place this would be to keep ducks!” said Fred; “they could swim in the cove, and, when the tide was out, come into this little basin, and go clear to the head of the brook.”

“I have often thought of it; but it takes a good deal to winter ducks, and we have to buy all our corn, both for ourselves and the hens. But we are going to plant a piece of corn in the spring, and then, perhaps, father will let me keep them.”

“I’ll give you a duck in the spring that wants to set, and eggs to put under her.”

“Thank you, Fred.”

“I think it’s real nice to see them play in the water; and, when one gets a bug, the others swim after, and try to get it away from him, and all going one right after the other to the pond in the morning.”

Although Fred had grown up in a new country, he yet gazed with wonder upon the great maple. It was indeed a kingly tree, thirteen feet and a half in circumference at the roots, bearing its enormous coronal of leaves in that symmetry of proportions which this tree (seen nowhere in its perfection but in the North American forests) sometimes exhibits.

“What is that, Charlie, on that lower limb?” asked John.

“That’s the baby-house.”

In the spring, at the time boys make whistles, Charlie had peeled the bark from some willow rods (which he called whitening the sallies), and made a long, narrow basket. He then worked an ornamental rim round it, and put strong handles in each end, and hung it to one of the lower limbs of the great tree. Sally made a little bed-tick and pillow, which Charlie stuffed with the down of the cat-tail (cooper’s) flag. Here the baby would sit and swing, and play with things that Charlie gave him, while he sat beneath and made whistles, or played with Rover; or if he wanted the little one to go to sleep, would pull a string that was fastened to the branch, and rock him to rest. In the absence of companions of his own age, the tree was like a brother to Charlie; and sometimes, as he sat listening to the wind among the leaves, he almost fancied it could talk. Here was his workshop, where he made everything that could be made with a knife or hatchet, and at every leisure moment he slipped off and ran to the tree.

Going round to the north-west side of it, they found a building about seven feet high, and shingled on the roof and walls, with a tight-fitting door, having a wooden latch and hinges. Opening the door, they saw that it had a regular frame, and was ceiled up with planed boards. There were two drawers in it, and above them were shelves. The drawers not being as deep as the closet, left a space of six inches in front. On one side was Charlie’s gun, and on the other his powder-horn and shot-pouch. On the edge of the top shelf was a squirrel stuffed, sitting up with his tail over his back, just as natural as life.

“How did you make that look so natural? and how did you fix the tail so?” asked Fred.

“I put a wire in it, and bent it to suit me.”

“But the head; it is exactly the right shape.” “Well, I took the head out of the skin, and got the meat all off of it, and put the skull back again, and stuffed in wool enough to fill up between the skull and skin, where I had taken off the flesh.”

On a little shelf by itself, made of apple-tree wood, oiled and polished, and upon which Charlie had evidently bestowed a great deal of labor, was the Bible his mother had given him.

They now opened the drawers. The first one opened was filled with all kinds of boys’ playthings, which Charlie had made himself,—whistles, fifes, and squirt-guns made of elder, and a ball.

“What a neat ball that is,” said Fred, “and how well it is covered! Did you cover it, Charlie?”

“Yes.”

“Will it bounce well?”

“Try it.”

Fred threw it down on the flat stone, when it went way up over his head into the tree.

“My jingoes! I never saw a ball bounce like that. What is it made of?”

“Yarn.”

“But what is there in it? What’s it wound on?”

“That’s telling; guess.”

“On a piece of cork?”

“No.” “On horse hair?”

“No; guess again.”

“I can’t guess.”

“Will you give it up?”

“Yes.”

“It’s wound on a sturgeon’s nose.”

“That’s a likely story!” exclaimed both boys in a breath. “Is it now—honest?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get a sturgeon’s nose?”

“They caught one at the mill; father and I were there with logs, and I got his nose.”

“How did you know it would make a ball bounce?”

“I learned it of the boys in Nova Scotia.”

“What a feller you are to make things! I wish I could; I’d have lots of things. I couldn’t cover a ball as neat as that to save my life. I wish I had lived on an island, and had to make things; perhaps I might have learned something.”

“I’ll give you that ball, Fred.”

“’Twould be too bad to take it from you, after you have taken so much pains to make it.”

“I can make another. I take lots of comfort sitting under this tree making things; besides, I’ve nobody to play with me, and there’s not much fun playing ball alone.”

They opened another drawer (which had two small ones—one beneath the other—at one end), but there was nothing in it, except a bow and arrows, some of which had iron points.

“What a splendid bow!” said John; “how stiff it is! and what handsome arrows! What is it made of?”

“Hornbeam.”

“I never saw a bow made of that; we boys make them of ash, walnut, or hemlock.”

“Uncle Isaac told me to make it of that; perhaps that’s what the Indians make them of. In our country they make them of yew.”

They opened the little drawers, but they were empty.

“Why don’t you keep something in these drawers?”

“I’m saving them for my tools; that is, when I get any money to buy them.”

“That reminds me,” said Fred, “that I have brought with me all the money that the baskets sold for; and now we will settle up the affairs of our company.”

He pulled a paper from his pocket, which contained an account of the number of baskets he and John had made, and the result of the sale.

Charlie then took from his drawer a book, the leaves of which were made of birch bark, in which was the account of all he had made, and delivered to them. Part of them had been sold at the store for half money and half in goods. Charlie wished to share equally, but to that the others would not consent, because they said that he had made the greater part of the baskets, and also taught them the trade. Charlie’s part of the proceeds accounted to ten dollars in money, besides his credit at the store. He had never before, in all his life, been in possession of so much money, and, overjoyed, ran to tell his mother.

“Now, Charlie,” said she, “do you use that money to buy things that you want and need, and don’t go to buying pigs, and spending it for us or the baby.”

“I’ll have a knife,” said Charlie, “at any rate, and then I shan’t have to be all the time borrowing father’s, or using a butcher’s knife. I’ll have some tools, too, to put in my drawers; but I think I ought to help father pay for the island; I think it’s dreadful to pay rent.” “Never mind that, Charlie; Ben can pay for the island fast enough.”

“Mother, you don’t know how many things I’ve thought about, while I’ve been sitting under the old maple this summer, that I would make for you to have in the house, when I got my money for the baskets, and could get some tools of my own. Mother, you don’t know how glad I am we have got just such a house as we have, where there’s no end of things to make, and things to do; also, a barn to build, the land to clear, and the house to finish. Now, if all this was done, there would be no fun—nothing new to look forward to; one day would be just like another. You couldn’t look at things after you’d made them, and say, That is my work; I took it out of the rough; that’s mine, for I made it; but, however nice it might look, you’d have to think it was somebody’s else wit and grit did it. That would take all the good out of it for me. I’m sure I think more of my canoe than I should of ever so nice a one that anybody made and gave me.”

“That is true, Charlie,” said Sally, delighted with sentiments so much in accordance with her own feelings. “I’m sure, if we had sheep, and flax, and pasturage, and I had a loom, and the house full of blankets, and sheets, and nice things, all given to us, I shouldn’t be half so happy as I am in trying to get them. I tell you, Charlie, the more you have to do, the more you can do. There’s nothing like having something ahead to make you work, and stick to it.”

“Yes, mother; it makes a fellow spit on his hands and hold on. I know that’s so; because, sometimes I want Rover to go to the woods, and he won’t; I switch him, and he won’t; I push him, and he won’t; then I put some acorns in my pocket and run ahead, and he’ll get there as soon as I do.”

When he returned to the boys he said, “I’ll bet that if you do shoot with a gun better than I, that I can beat you both with a bow. I can hit a mark at twenty yards with this bow, oftener than you can at thirty with your guns. I’ll bet you the bow and arrows against two gun-flints and two charges of powder, that I do it.”

“I’ll stand you,” cried John; “I can beat you with my eyes shut. What’s the use of talking about a bow in the same day with a gun?”

They measured the distance, and set up a mark, when, to their astonishment, Charlie beat them both.

“You thought, John, the first time we ever saw each other,” said Charlie, “that I had a great many things to learn; you’ll find you have some things to learn, too.”

“I was a fool, Charlie; I believe you have forgot more than ever I knew; but how did you learn to shoot so with a bow?”

“Why, in England, boys and men practise a great deal with a bow; and they have shooting matches on the holidays, and give prizes to the best marksmen. My grandfather was a bowman in the king’s service; when he was young they used to fight with bows and arrows. I wish you could see his bow and arrows, that he had in the wars; the bow was six feet long, and the arrows would go through a man. Since I’ve been here I’ve practised a great deal, because I didn’t have money to buy powder and shot. I can shoot a coot or a squirrel with an arrow, or any kind of sea-bird.”

“We’ll have bows, and practise,” said John.

“I’ll give you this one, and make Fred one, too. I like to make bows.”

“Thank you, Charlie; and when we get learned we’ll come on here and give it to the squawks, and go on to Oak Island, and shoot squirrels and woodchucks, and save our powder and shot for sea-fowl. Have we seen all your things, Charlie?” “Not by a long chalk; look up there” (pointing up into the tree). Following the direction of his fingers, they saw in the top of the tree a platform. Charlie took down a little ladder which hung on the tree, by which they ascended to its lower limbs. When they came down John proposed that they should camp out that night in the woods.

“I should think,” said Charlie, “it would be a great deal more comfortable to sleep in a bed.”

“Comfortable! who wants to be comfortable; we can be comfortable any time.”

At supper John broached the matter, and asked Sally to let them have some blankets.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said she; “you’ll get your death’s cold, and your folks won’t like it.”

“Let them have the clothes,” said Ben; “we’ve invited them here to have a holiday; let them spend it in their own fashion; it will taste the sweeter.”

As they passed the maple on their way to the woods, John suddenly exclaimed, “What say, boys, for camping in the top of the tree? it will be grand to lie there, hear the wind blow, feel the tree rock, and listen to the surf in the night.”

“What if it should storm?” said Charlie.

“It can’t storm; see how clear it is; and the wind is north-west—yes, and west of that.” “What if we should fall out?”

“We will lash ourselves in.”

Tying the blankets to a line, they hoisted them up. They went to the beach, and picking up some dry eel-grass, spread it over the platform for a bed, and covered it with the sail of Ben’s canoe.

John fastened them all in with ropes, and then fastened himself. Charlie slept in the middle; they cuddled up together, and were as warm as toast. The trees on the island had already parted with most of their leaves, but the maple, standing in a sheltered spot, retained its foliage.

The limbs of the great tree swayed gently in the westerly breeze, and the moonbeams came slanting through them most delightfully, as the boys lay listening to the moan of the night wind, the sound of the surf along the shore, and watched the clouds as they coursed by the moon, all heightened by the novelty of their situation.

“I’m glad we did it,” said Charlie; “I had no idea it would be so nice.”

Fred wished he could be a bird, and always live in the tree-tops. The swaying of the branches communicated to their couch a motion exceedingly pleasant, which, rousing a long-slumbering association in Charlie’s mind, he struck up the old ditty,—

But after twelve o’clock the wind changed to south-east; clouds obscured the moon; and, while the boys were quietly sleeping, a gust of wind struck the tree, covering them with showers of leaves, while the rain dashed in sheets upon their faces. Waking in alarm, they found themselves enveloped in midnight darkness, pelted with rain, and their couch quivering in the gale. Covering their heads with the bed-clothes, they took counsel in the emergency. Fred and Charlie were alarmed and anxious, but John, whose spirits always rose with danger, seemed very much at his ease.

“What shall we do?” said Fred.

“Stay where we are,” replied John; “at any rate till the blankets wet through.”

But the rain came down in torrents, and it soon began to run in under and over them.

“We can’t stay here,” said Charlie; “let’s go to the house.”

“I won’t,” replied John; “Ben will laugh at us, and Sally will say, ‘Didn’t I tell you so.’”

“Charlie, have you got the flint, steel, and matches?”

“Yes.” “Do you know of any hollow tree?”

“Yes; a great big one, all dead.”

“Could you find it in the dark?”

“Yes; I can go right to it.”

They found the tree, dark as it was, for Charlie knew it stood in the corner of the log fence, and followed the fence till he came to it. It was an enormous pine, completely dead, and with a hollow in it large enough to hold the whole of them. It stood among a growth of old hemlocks, whose foliage was so dense,—the lower limbs drooping almost to the earth,—that they shed the rain, and the ground under them was but slightly wet.

“This is the place,” said John, in high glee; “we’ll have the hemlock to make a fire under, and the old pine for our bedroom.”

He got into the tree, and scraping some dry splinters from the inside of it, struck fire with his flint and steel, and kindled them. It was not John’s design to build his fire in the old pine, only to kindle it there, because it was a dry place. He now took the blazing wood up, and put it on the ground under the hemlocks, and the rest fed the flame with dry pieces torn from the inside of the pine, till they had a bright blaze. By this light they stripped bark from the birches, picked up pitch knots, and dragged dead branches, which, though wet on the outside, the fire was now hot enough to burn. They now threw themselves upon the ground, which was thoroughly dried by the tremendous heat.

“A maple is a beautiful tree to look at,” said John; “but give me an old hemlock for a rain-storm, and to build a fire under.”

Charlie, to whom such scenes were altogether new, was in raptures.

“I didn’t know before,” he said, “that you could make a fire in the woods in a rain-storm. I never saw any woods till I came to this country, and don’t know anything about such things as you and Fred, that have been brought up in them.”

“There are always places,” replied John, “in thick forests,—hollow trees, the north-west side of logs, and in hollow logs, where the wet never gets: in those places you can always find dry stuff, and, when you get a hot fire, wet or green wood will burn.”

“It seems so wild and independent; no dukes, and earls, and gamekeepers to watch you, but just go where you please, kill and eat. We will go some time, and do what we were telling about,—live wild,—won’t we, John?” “Yes; after father gets home. You get Uncle Isaac to tell you about how the Indians do, and I will, too.”

“Yes; and I shall learn to shoot better with a gun by that time, and you will learn to shoot with a bow. I tell you what, I like to contrive and make shifts, and get along so, better than I do to have everything to do with, or have everything done for me. I’m such a fool, I expect I shall hate to give up my birch-bark sail when I get a good one.”

“So do I. Ben is the greatest for that, and so is father; you can’t get either of them in so tight a place that they can’t get out of it. It seems to come natural to them to contrive; they don’t have to stop and think about it, like other folks do.”

“That’s so. The other day father was going over to the main land, and mother wanted him to look well, and she had no flat-iron to iron a fine shirt; so she wanted him to take it to your mother and get her to iron it; but he got a square glass bottle, and filled it full of hot water, and she ironed it first rate with that.”

“There’s another thing I like,” said John; “I like to go to new places; I should like to go to a strange place every day; I should like to go all over the world.” “I don’t; when I find a place I like, I want to stay there; and the longer I stay the better I like it; it seems as if I liked the very ground.”

“I think we’ve had a splendid time,” said Fred.

“We had a good time in the tree while it lasted, and now I don’t see how we could have any better time than we are having here.”

“Yes,” replied John; “the ducking coming in between is just what puts the touch on. Now let’s go to sleep in the old stub.”

They cleaned out the rotten wood, put in some brush to lie on, built the fire so near to it that the heat from it would keep them warm, and were soon fast asleep. When they awoke the fire was still burning, and the tempest had abated, though it was still raining heavily. Making their way to the house, they met Ben coming in quest of them.

“I should think,” said he, “that you had crept into a hollow log, by the looks of your jackets.”

While eating their breakfasts they detailed the night’s adventures.

“I’m glad,” said Sally, “I didn’t know you were in the top of that tree; I shouldn’t have slept a wink if I had; it must be curious fun to leave a good warm bed and sleep in the top of a tree this time of year. I don’t see what put that in your heads; that’s some of John’s work, I know. I don’t believe but, if you would own the truth, you wished yourselves snug in bed when the squall struck.”

“You’ve been out in the rain enough for once,” said Ben; “I shan’t let you go out again till it’s done raining. I think you had better go to bed and finish your nap.”

“We are all here together,” said Charlie, “and can’t do anything else; let’s make some baskets; ’twill be money in our pockets, for we have none on hand; I’ve got stuff in the house all pounded.”

They made a fire in the great fireplace, and sitting around it, made baskets, and laid new plans. At noon the weather cleared; but after eating a hearty dinner, and the fatigue and excitement of the night’s adventure, the boys felt but little inclined to engage in anything that required active exertion. They lolled on the grass a while, and at length Charlie proposed that they should go a fishing. The tides being very high, the water had flowed up to the fissure in the ledge where the brook ran over. A whole school of smelts and tom-cods, taking advantage of this, had come up with the tide, and the mouth of the brook was full of them. After fishing a while, Fred Williams tied his handkerchief to four sticks, and putting some bait in it, and a stone to sink it, fastened a line to each corner, and let it down into the water. The smelts going in to eat the bait, he gradually drew it up, and, when almost at the surface, gave a quick jerk; but the water was so long filtering through the handkerchief that they all swam out.

“I can fix them, I know,” said Charlie.

He got a bushel basket, and took out small pieces of the filling to make it a little more open, put in bait, and sunk it. After the fish were in he drew it slowly up. The basket being deep, and the fish well to the bottom, they did not take alarm until the rim was almost at the top of the water. Charles then jerked it out, when the water ran through the open basket so quickly, that, unable to escape, they were caught. When satisfied with this sport, they selected the largest for their supper, and Charles gave the rest to his hens.

When they awoke the next morning the sun was shining in their faces, and coming down stairs they were astonished to find it was nine o’clock, and that Ben had eaten his breakfast, and gone to work in the woods.

“Well, boys,” said Sally, “which do you like the best, the tree top, the pine stub, or the bed up stairs?” “The bed up stairs is first rate,” replied John, “as you may judge by the length of our nap; but the pine stub for me.”

As they were eating and chatting, Ben came running in for his gun, saying there was a seal in the cove.

“O, do let me shoot him!” cried John, leaping from the table.

“I’m afraid you won’t hit him; I want his skin and oil, for he’s a bouncer.”

“Yes, I will; do let me fire, Ben?”

Charlie had cut a scull-hole in his canoe, so that she could be used for gunning.

Getting into this, John sculled towards the creature, who kept swimming and diving. At length he fired. The water was instantly red with blood. John paddled with all his might, but the seal began to sink; catching up a flounder-spear, he endeavored to pierce him with it, but he had sunk out of reach. He instantly flung over the anchor, fastened an oar to it to mark the spot, and then paddled slowly back, with downcast looks.

“You have done well, John,” said Ben, who saw he was mortified; “they will sink when you kill them outright. If we only had Tige here he would bring him up.” “I will dive and get him at low water.”

At low water, John, diving down, brought up the seal. Neither of the other boys had ever seen one, except in the water. They regarded it with great interest, and volunteered, under John’s direction, to skin it and obtain the fat, called blubber, from which a good oil is made.

“Only see, John,” cried the two boys, “if he has not got whiskers just like a cat; and what funny legs; why, they are not legs; what are they?”

“We call them flippers,” said Ben. He then showed them that there was a membrane between the toes of his feet, like a duck’s. His hind legs were about as long as the thighs of a hog would be, if the legs were cut off at the gambrel joint. They cannot with these short legs walk much on the land, but are very active in the water. In the warm nights in summer they crawl out on the rocks, and lie and play, and you may hear them growling and whining like so many dogs; they also, in the winter time, lie on the ice cakes and float about, and when alarmed they slide into the water in an instant. When they are wounded severely, and are in the agonies of death, they will float till the gunners can get hold of them; but if they are killed outright they sink at once. Those who shoot them generally have a spear, or hook, with which they sometimes catch them as they are going down, as John attempted to do. Ben also told them that the seals were so strong, that if you took hold of one of their paws when they were half dead, they would twist it out of your grip with such force and quickness as to benumb the fingers. The fat or blubber of a seal lies in one sheet over the meat, about two inches in thickness, and not at all mixed with it, as is the case with other animals.

The boys removed the skin from this mass of fat, like lard, which was quite a difficult operation for novices, and required a great deal of care, that they might not cut the skin, or leave the fat upon it. When the skin was removed, there lay the fat in one mass, that trembled when they touched it. They next removed this in strips, leaving the carcass lean, and of a dark red. They now stretched the skin tight with nails on the door of the hovel to dry, and Sally, cutting the blubber into small pieces, put it on the fire to render. It made excellent oil to burn in lamps, and to sell; and the skin was used in those days to make caps, gloves, and boots for winter, also to cover trunks, and for many other uses.

Skinning the seal, and especially talking about it, had consumed so much time, that they determined to devote what little of the day was left to playing ball, especially as Charlie was very fond of the sport, and seldom had any one to play with him. They persuaded Ben to make one of their number. The island being mostly forest, they had not a very large place in which to play, as part of that cleared was sown with winter rye, which had grown so much on the new, strong land, as to make it difficult to find the ball. Thus they were limited to a piece of ground, not of great extent, near the shore. The boys had bat-sticks, but Ben preferred to use his fist, with which he sent the ball whizzing through the air with great velocity. At length becoming excited with the game, he struck it with such force as to send it over the White Bull into the water. He then went to his work in the woods, leaving the boys to get their ball as they could. Not many moments elapsed before they were on board the canoe in hot pursuit. Pulling in the direction they had seen it go, they soon discovered it bobbing up and down on a breaker in the cave on the White Bull. The cave was formed by two rocky points, and the bottom of it was, near the shore, a smooth granite ledge; but across its mouth were ragged and broken reefs, two fathoms beneath the surface at the lowest tides. Over these the great wave came in, filling the whole cave with a sheet of foam. In this breaker lay the ball; when the wave curled over and broke, it would come towards the shore and excite hope; then the recoil would carry it back again: thus it tantalized them.

“I’ll have that ball,” said Fred, who was a splendid swimmer, and as much at home in the water as a fish.

“It’s impossible,” said Charlie, “till there comes a northerly wind to blow the sea down, and a calm after it; then I’ve seen it so smooth you might go over it in a canoe, and I have been over it.”

“But I’ll swim in and get it.”

“Swim in! The moment you get into that undertow, it will hold you, and carry you back and forth just as it is doing that ball. Why, I’ve seen a mill-log get in there and stay three or four days; and so it will carry you back and forth till you are worn out, or perish. I had rather make you a dozen balls than you should go in there.”

“I tell you I will go in there and get that ball; I’ll have a try for it, at any rate.”

“No, you won’t,” said John; “for we are the strongest party, and we won’t let you, if we have to tie you, or lay you down and pile rocks on you.” “I tell you I have a plan, if you would only help a fellow a little. Charlie gave me that ball, and it’s all the present I ever had in my life; for nobody ever cared enough about me to give me anything before.”

“Let’s hear your plan.”

“Can’t you row up to the surf in the canoe? I will put a line round me and go in; then, if it sucks me in, you can pull me out.”

“Well, Fred, we will do that, if we can find a line strong enough.”

“I can get a new line,” said Charlie, “that was left when they rigged the Ark.”

There was no getting into the cave by its mouth, as it was entirely filled by the surf; so they hauled the canoe over the rock into the cave, rowed up, and anchored as near as they dared, to look at it. Every time the surf came in, which was about once in five minutes, it swept the ball towards them, where it remained a minute or two, and then the recoil of the wave drew it back. Fred, putting the line round him, flung himself into the water, which was spotted with patches of gray froth that the wind blew from the crest of the breaker. The resolute boy breasted the waves; but so far from being sucked in, he found it impossible to reach the spot where the ball lay, and the suction began, by reason of the wind, which blew directly in his face, and the sea, that, beyond the influence of the breaker, drove directly to the shore; and, worn out with effort, he returned exhausted to the boat.

“I have got a plan,” said Charlie, who, by this time, had become as much interested as Fred himself. “Let us make the line fast ashore, Fred sit in the stern and hold on to it, keeping his eye on the ball, and tell us where and how to row, and one or the other of us will catch it.”

“Suppose,” said John, “while he was watching the ball and us, he should happen to let the line slip, or couldn’t hold it; then we should follow the ball right into the breaker.”

“We will make the end fast to the head-board of the canoe; then it can’t get away, and we can have it as well as he.”

The boys now pulled up the grappling, holding the canoe stationary with their oars till the surf should come in to drive the ball towards them.

“Ready!” shouted Fred; “here it comes!”

“Ay, ay.”

“Ready! Give way together!”

Away shot the canoe directly to the surf.

“Ease, Charlie; pull, John; steady together; grab, Charlie! it’s right under the bow, on your side.”

Looking over his shoulder, Charlie caught sight of it; dropping his oar, he strove to grasp it; but the canoe, ceasing to feel the influence of his oar, sheered and went over it. The next time it was on John’s side, but the result was the same; the canoe could not be kept stationary a moment without both oars.

“Pay out the line, Fred,” said John; “let’s go beyond it; I’ll risk the surf.”

Fred, who needed no prompting, did as he was ordered. Familiarity with danger had made them reckless. With set teeth and white lips they strained at the oars; the canoe stood almost on end, and the din was awful. At that moment the blade of John’s oar struck the ball; feathering[B] his oar with a jerk, he sent it skipping over the water out of the eddy, where the wind drove it directly to the shore.

“Haul, Fred! haul for your life!” shouted he, for the canoe was now within the undertow, that set directly towards the breaker. Shipping their oars, they sat down in the bottom of the canoe, which now stood almost perpendicular, and bracing their feet against the knees that ran across the bottom, grasped the line, and united their efforts to those of Fred. “Haul and hold!” cried John; “take a turn, Charlie!”

Charlie ran the end of the line through a hole in the head-board, and took in the slack. Slowly the canoe yielded to their efforts, as with desperate energy, they strained at the line, and began to recede from the surf. All at once the line slackened in their grasp.

“It’s coming,” cried John; “haul hand over hand; the breaker is after us.”

There came a rush and a roar; they were covered with spray, and the canoe was half filled with water; but the surf had fallen short of them, and they were safe.

Trembling with excitement, and breathless with exertion, they gazed upon each other in silence as the canoe drifted back before the wind to the beach.

“I never will play with this ball again,” said Fred, taking it from the water; “but I will keep it just as long as I live.”

“You ought to, Fred,” said John, “for we have risked our lives to get it.”

Indeed, Charles and John had done as boys often do; after giving Fred good advice, and striving to prevent him from a perilous act, they had involved him and themselves in greater danger.

“I think, John, we had better not mention this matter at home; if we do, I’m afraid father will send you and Fred both home, and never let me have another holiday.”

“We must go to the fire; we are wet with perspiration; and if I look as the rest of you do, they will know something is the matter, and question us.”

“If they do, I shall tell the truth.”

“Of course you will.”

“We might do as we did before—make a fire in the woods.”

“That’s first rate; I never thought of that.”

Youth soon recovers from fatigue; and after lying an hour stretched at full length before a warm fire, they felt entirely rested. Thoroughly dried, and recruited by rest, they now began to feel the pressing calls of appetite.

“I’m so hungry,” said Fred; “I do wish it was supper time.”

“It is almost,” said Charlie; “and if we go home mother will hurry it up.”