It was two o’clock in the morning, when Sally, who had the breakfast all ready, called the boys.

“The wind is north-west, and there will be no surf round the rocks,” said Ben, who was up to help them away.

“You are sure you remember the marks?”

“Yes, father; I’ve written them all down in my birch-bark book.”

There was a moderate breeze, the fag end of a north-wester, and the canoe, which was large, and had excellent oars, sail, and a first-rate steering paddle, went off before it rolling and going over the water at a great rate. They soon lost sight of the island, and saw nothing around them but the waves sparkling in the moonbeams, and the loom of the land like a dim black shadow on the horizon. The boys began to feel a kind of awe stealing over them, as the last glimpse of it faded from their sight, and they found themselves rushing into the unknown waste, for they were steering straight out to sea, without compass, or any guide other than to keep before the wind till the daylight should reveal to them the land astern.

“Was you ever so far from land before, Charlie?” asked John, after they had run about an hour and a half.

“No; except in a vessel, with a crew of men, and a compass.”

“It’s great—ain’t it? to be going through the water in this wild way, and not see or hear anything but the waves. Only see how she runs when she gets on the top of one of these long seas; and how they come up under the stern, and roll over, and go boo.”

“If we should get out so far by daylight,” said Fred, “that we couldn’t see the land, should we ever get back?”

“We can’t get so far; it was after three before we started; the land is but little way astern, and we can see it fifteen or twenty miles. We can take in sail and lie by, if we think we are getting too far.”

“But the wind might blow so hard that we couldn’t get back.”

“I don’t think there’s much fun without some risk; every old woman would go to sea if there was no danger.”

“I’m a great deal more afraid of the wind dying,” said Charlie; “it don’t blow near so hard as it did; we may have to row.”

They ran on about an hour longer, when Fred cried out, “It’s daybreak, I know; there is a streak in the east.”

Gradually the light increased. John soon declared that he saw the shade of the land, and didn’t believe they were far enough.

“I see Elm Island,” shouted Fred.

“So do I,” said John; “give us your book, Charlie. Luff her up; I can’t see Birch Point at all; the island hides it; there it comes out. Luff, Charlie; I see the lone spruce; luff more yet; there, it’s on the Junk of Pork; there’s one mark, anyhow. Fred, you keep your eye on the mark, and tell Charlie how to steer, while I look for the other one. I see Smutty Nose, but we are not far enough; I knew we wasn’t. I can’t see Oak Island at all; Smutty covers it all up. O, good wind, don’t die! don’t die! please don’t die! for the sake of the widow Yelf.”

In about half an hour John exclaimed, “There it comes out; I see the tall oaks on the north-eastern end. Hurrah! Keep away a little; here it is; both marks on; let the sheet fly!” he cried, flinging the anchor overboard. As it splashed in the water, the wind gave one puff, and died away to a flat calm, just as the rising sun flung its beams directly in the boys’ faces.

“Now, brother mariners,” said John, who was in high feather at this auspicious beginning of their enterprise, “we’ve got a fishing-ground of our own, marks of our own, all written down in a birch-bark book, and can come when we like. What do you say? shall we eat now, or wait till noon?”

“I think,” said Charlie, “we had better take a bite before we wet our lines, for if we get the fish round we shan’t want to stop.”

As he spoke, he pulled out a pail and jug from beneath the head-board of the canoe,—one containing coffee, the other bread, meat, and two apple pies, which Sally had made the evening before, of some apples Uncle Isaac brought over to them.“Isn’t this good?” with half an apple pie in his hand. It was something he didn’t have every day, and was a rich treat to him.

“We’re exactly on the marks,” said he, as he threw his line overboard; “and it’s just the depth of water Uncle Isaac said there would—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but, instead, began to haul in his line with all his might, and soon flung a large cod in the bottom of the canoe.

“What a handsome fellow!” said Fred; “his fins, eyes, and gills are red, and also his back.”

“What a beauty! Good luck for the widow,” said John, as he threw another beside it.

By this time Fred had got his line overboard, and soon added another to those already caught. For hours nothing was heard but the whizzing of lines and the flapping of fish, as they were drawn from the water. Fred, who had not been so much accustomed to fishing as the others, could not help stopping often to admire the great pile of rock cod.

They are indeed a beautiful fish when first caught, before the red hue they obtain from the kelp, among which they feed, has faded.

In addition to their clams, the boys had an abundance of lobsters and wrinkles; they had also brought some of the smelts caught in the mouth of the brook the day before. They pounded these up, and threw them into the water, which, as they sunk down and drifted astern, drew the fish from all quarters.

“I wonder what I’ve got,” cried Fred, who was tugging at his line, and making awful faces, it hurt his fingers so.

“Perhaps it’s a shark,” said John.

“O, I hope it is! I’ll take out his backbone and make a cane of it.”

“It may be a halibut,” said Charlie, taking hold of the line to help him. But John, looking over the side, burst into laughter, as he exclaimed, “You’ve got the anchor!”

“I’ve got something; it ain’t an anchor, neither,” said Charlie, and pulled up an enormous lobster.

“How much bigger they grow off here in the deep water, than they do round the shores! I mean to eat him.”

It was now near noon, and about low tide; the sun shone bright, the water was glassy, and they could plainly see the bottom, which was a reef of rocks covered with long kelps; the largest of which now came to the top of the water, spreading their great red leaves over its surface.

They had now caught a great many fish, and began to feel somewhat tired. Their hands, too, were sore and parboiled from the friction of the line and constant soaking in the water, especially those of John and Fred, who did not know how to take out the hook without putting their fingers into the fish’s mouth, and scratching and cutting them with his teeth and gills. But Charlie, who was better versed in the business, took out the hook with his killer—a stick made to fit the hook, and with which he knocked the fish on the head as he pulled them in. So, while one of them fished, and threw bait to keep the fish round, the others leaned over the side of the canoe, and amused themselves by looking down into the clear water, and seeing the fish swimming about among the kelp, like cattle in the pasture. There were sculpins, lobsters, perch, cod, pollock, and once in a while a haddock, all living as socially together as could be. Sometimes a cusk would stray in among them, and a sea-nettle come drifting along just outside the kelp, his long feelers streaming a yard behind him.

“Look at the muscles down there,” said Fred; “I never knew muscles grew on rocks way out in the sea; I thought they grew in the mud.”

“These,” replied John, “are rock muscles, a much smaller kind; they are what the sea-ducks live on; they dive down and tear them off the rocks with their bills.”

“What kind of a thing is that? I should like to know; there, he’s close to that great rock.”

“I don’t know; Charlie, come here and tell us what this is.” “That,” said Charlie, “is a lump-fish; he don’t belong here, on a rock cod ledge, but I suppose he’s out making calls this pleasant day.”

“I should think he was a lump,” said John; “he’s square, both ends.”

“They are first rate to eat,” said Charlie; “let’s try and catch him, and give him to Uncle Isaac, together with that great lobster.”

“What is the best bait for him, Charlie?”

“I don’t know. You and Fred bait him with lobster, and I will bait him with clams.”

They baited their hooks, and lowering them gently into the water, watched the result. The lump, who was nearest to Charlie’s bait, swam up to it, turned it round, smelt of it, and then moved off in the direction of the other lines.

“He don’t like my bait,” said Charlie; “he’s coming to taste of yours.”

But before the clumsy creature arrived at the spot, two rock cod darted at both baits, and were caught. They now all three baited with lobster, and Fred caught him. An ugly-looking, misshapen thing he was, with a black, dirty skin, like a sculpin, and called, from his lack of proportions, a lump-fish.

“How curious some of these fish do!” said John; “they come up to the bait, and go right away from it, as though they didn’t like it, and then turn right about and snap it up.”

“They do just like some folks at the store, when anybody asks them to take a dram; they say they don’t know as it’s worth while, or as they have any occasion, but they always take it, for all that.”

They had now loaded the canoe as deep as they dared; it was low water and a flat calm; the prospect was, that they would have to row the heavy-laden boat home; in that case they would need the whole of the flood tide to do it with.

“Let’s reel up our lines,” said Charlie; “the tide has turned.”

“Let’s wait a little while, and eat up the rest of our grub; perhaps there will be a southerly wind.”

After reeling up their lines, they amused themselves a while by dropping pieces of bait into the water, and seeing the fish run after it, and try to take it away from each other. While they were eating, they saw a dark streak upon the water, about a mile off.

“There’s the fair wind coming,” said Charlie; “now we’ll just wait for it.”

They pulled up the anchor, and, setting the sail, continued their repast, while the canoe drifted along with the flood tide. With a fair wind and tide, they now made rapid progress, and Elm Island, with the house, was soon in full view. They were so wet with hauling in their lines, and the wind from the sea was so damp and chilly, that they were obliged to take turns at the oars to keep themselves warm.

While they were thus engaged, Fred, who was steering, exclaimed, “I see a smoke in Captain Rhines’s cove.”

“So do I,” said John, “and a blaze, too; what can that be for?”

“I expect,” said Charlie, “Uncle Isaac is there, and has got a fire—won’t that be good?—to dry our wet clothes; and won’t he laugh when he comes to see all these fish? We couldn’t have carried fifty weight more; she almost dips her side under every time she rolls. Keep her off a little, Fred, so that I can see by the point.”

Fred changed the direction of the canoe, thus enabling them to look into the cove.

“Why, he’s got two fires, a big and a little one; and there’s Tige along with him.”

“I tell you, boys,” said Fred, “I like to eat; I think half the fun of these times is, that things taste so good out doors. It feels so good, too, when you are wet, tired, and a little chilly, to stretch out before a good, roaring fire!”

“That’s so,” replied John; “and when you make the fire of old logs and stumps, with great prongs on them, to sit and eat, and see the blaze go krinkle krankle in and out among the roots, that go all criss-cross, and every which way.”

“When we start off so in the night,” said Charlie, “find a fishing-ground, and get lots of fish, it makes a fellow feel as though he was somebody.”

“Kind of mannish,” said John.

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

As they neared the shore, they were equally astonished and delighted at what they saw. From a great pile of drift slabs, logs, and stumps that lay in the cove, Uncle Isaac had made two fires,—one to sit by, and the other to cook by; he had made at the small fire a crotch to hang the pot on, and placed stones to keep the fire in place under the kettle. With his broad-axe he had made a long table and seats, of slabs. His cart stood on the beach, with the oxen chained to the wheels. In it he had brought tubs to salt the fish in, knives to split, and salt to salt them; a kettle, pork, potatoes, new cider, apples, cheese, bowls, spoons and plates, knives and forks, and some eggs to roast in the ashes. He had put the table by the big fire, and on a bench beside it sat Hannah Murch, with her white apron on, knitting, and Uncle Isaac smoking his pipe, and striving to keep from laughing.

“I hope they’ve got the table big enough,” said John; “it’s big enough for a dozen people. But only see Tige; just you look there, Charlie; he’s got a chip in his mouth; when he’s awful glad he always gets a chip, and gives little, short barks. O, I wish he could talk! Look, Fred! here he comes; only see how fast he swims!”

In a few moments Tige was alongside, licking John’s hands, which he reached out to him, when he swam beside them till they came to the beach.

“Uncle Isaac,” screamed Charlie, “I guess you’ll say something when you see what we’ve got. O, the master lot of fish!”

“I guess I shall,” he replied, standing up on his toes, and looking over the boys’ heads, right into the canoe. “I shall say you have been raal smart boys, and done a fust-rate thing. ’Tisn’t every three boys that have pluck enough to go fifteen miles outside, and load a big canoe, as you have done. I make no doubt you have enjoyed yourselves.”

“You’d better believe we have,” said Fred; “fair tide and fair wind both ways; no rowing, and no slavery of any kind.”

“I guess,” said Hannah Murch, “you’ll enjoy yourselves better when you get that chowder, and that something else I am going to make.”

“What else, Mrs. Murch?”

“That’s telling.”

“How I wish father and mother were here!” said Charlie.

“Here they are,” was the reply; and Ben, Sally, and the widow Hadlock came out from behind the cart.

“This is too good,” said Charlie, hugging them both. Indeed, it was as much of a surprise to Ben and his wife as to the boys. Uncle Isaac, knowing that they must come to the beach, on their return from the funeral, to take the boat, had said nothing to them of his intentions.

Hannah Murch, who was a great friend of Sally, had entered into her husband’s plans with all her soul, and she was not one of the kind that did things with a slack hand.

“I wish my mother was here, too,” said John.

“Here she is,” was the reply; and Mrs. Rhines and her daughters came out from some alder bushes at the head of the cove. “What’s in that pot over the fire now?” said Fred, who was a dear lover of good cheer, and could eat as much as a heron.

“Never you mind, Fred,” replied Mrs. Murch, “the pot is doing very well; but get me those fish Isaac has just cleaned, and hand me that thing full of potatoes. Sally, will you wash and pare the potatoes? Mrs. Rhines, won’t you be good enough to draw the tea? Girls, put the dishes on the table; you’ll find them in a tub in the cart; and the pies are there, too, and the milk and sweetening.”

While the chowder was preparing, the men, who were workmen at the business, aided by the boys, split the fish and salted them.

“Now, John,” said Uncle Isaac, “these fish can stay in the pickle till you get back from the island; I’ve salted them slack, so they will not be hard and dry; then you can take them out, put them on the flake, and dry them. I’ll come and look at them once in the while, and, when they are cured, you can take your steers and cart and take them to the widow’s; she is in no hurry for them, as the neighbors have given her all she needs for the present.”

“I think, Uncle Isaac, we all caught them, and we all ought to carry them. If I should go alone it would look as though I had done it all. If she ain’t in any hurry for them, why can’t they stay at our house till we go to haul her wood? and then we might dig her potatoes, and put them in the cellar, and she will be all fixed up for winter.”

“That will be the best way, John.”

They now washed out the canoe, and the day’s work was done. As the boys were still some wet, they piled whole slabs on the fire, and lay down before it, waiting for supper, their wet clothes smoking in the heat. The great pot was now put in the middle of the table, and Hannah Murch filled the bowls as fast as they were emptied, which was not seldom.

“Don’t give Fred any more, Aunt Hannah,” said John; “he’ll kill himself, and his blood will be on your head.”

“Shouldn’t think you need say anything,” growled Fred; “that’s the third bowlful you’ve eaten.”

“I don’t believe there ever was so good a chowder as this,” said Charlie; “I never tasted anything so good in all my life.”

After the chowder came the roasted eggs. Uncle Isaac now brought a broad, thin flat rock from the beach, which, after Hannah had washed in boiling water, he placed in the middle of the table. She then went to the pot which had so excited Fred’s curiosity, and took from it an apple pudding, which she had made at home, and brought with her, and put it on the rock; she also brought a jug of sauce.

“I knew,” she said to Sally, “how well you liked my apple puddings when you was a girl, and I mean’t you should have one. I’ve done my best; if it ain’t good I shall be sorry.”

If the proof of a pudding is in the eating, Mrs. Murch certainly succeeded, for every morsel was devoured. The cheese, apples, and cider furnished the dessert, of which the boys freely partook, as cider was not mentioned in Uncle Isaac’s pledge, or even thought of. Indeed, that was but the germ in a thoughtful, benevolent mind, of principles that were to be widely extended in after years. It was found, when all were satisfied, that a large portion of the eggs, cheese, butter, bread, pies, and milk, had not been tasted.

“I’ll just leave these,” said Uncle Isaac, “as I go home, at the widow Yelf’s; the boys, I reckon, can take care of the apples.”

It was far into the evening before the party separated. The boys lingered after the rest were gone, declaring they had eaten so much it was impossible for them to row over at present. They lay by the fire listening to the dip of Ben’s oars, and the rumble of Uncle Isaac’s cart, till both died away in the distance.

“What say for going in swimming?” asked John.

“It’s too cold,” replied Fred; “who ever heard of anybody going in swimming in the night, at this time of year?”

“I’ll stump you both to go in.”

“I won’t take a stump from anybody,” said Charlie; “go ahead; I’ll follow.”

John got his clothes off first, and, running in half leg deep, hesitated.

“Is it warm?” asked Fred.

“Splendid!” was the reply, as he soused in.

The others followed.

“Murder!” screamed Fred, the instant he got his head above water; “I should think it was splendid;” and, catching up his clothes, ran to the fire, followed by the others, their teeth chattering in their heads. Standing before the great fire, they put on their clothes, and were soon as warm as ever. They now took the apples that were left, put them in the canoe, and piling a great heap of slabs on the table, set it on fire, and pulled away by the light of it, Charlie steering, and singing to them an old English song about one Parker, who was hung at the yard-arm for mutiny at the ——. It must be borne in mind that slabs were not considered worth anything in those days, and were thrown out of the mill to go adrift, and the shores were full of them, so that boys had plenty of material for bonfires. John had prevailed upon his mother to let Tige go with them, as the widow Hadlock said Sam might come over and stop nights till John came back.

“Haven’t we had a good time to-day, Fred?” asked John, after they were once more in bed on Elm Island.

“Never had such a good time in my life. I’m real glad Tige bit me, that I got to going with you and Charlie, and you like me. I used to think there couldn’t be any good time without I was in some deviltry. Then to think how good Uncle Isaac and his wife were to come down there and bring all those good things, just that we boys might have a good time! Wasn’t that apple pudding and sauce good?”

Fred slept in the middle, and, in the fulness of his heart, he hugged first one and then the other of his companions. “It seems,” said John, “that Uncle Isaac knew what we wanted better than we did ourselves.”

“What shall we do to-morrow, Charlie?”

He received no answer; Charlie was fast asleep; and all three of them were soon buried in those refreshing slumbers that succeed to exercise and exposure in the open air. It was impossible that Uncle Isaac’s dealings with the boys should be kept secret, although he mentioned it to no one; and the only witness was a crow that sat on the top of a neighboring birch.

Ben was in the house when Charles came for the auger. “What does he want it for?” asked he.

“I don’t know; he told me to get it.”

Ben returned to the woods, wondering what Uncle Isaac could be going to do with the auger. But at night, before Charlie went to bed, he told Ben and his wife all that had been said and done on both sides. Ben remained silent after he had told the story.

At length Sally said, “I don’t think, myself, that boys ought to drink spirit till they are old enough to have discretion, and to make a proper use of it; but to promise never to drink, I never heard of such a thing. For my part, I don’t see how anybody that works, and is exposed, can get along without it; and I’m sure they can’t in sickness.” “Yes,” replied Ben; “and by the time they come to have discretion (as Uncle Isaac says), they have formed the habit, and half of them die drunkards. Everybody can see what rum has done for poor Mr. Yelf. How many times I’ve heard my father and mother tell what good times they used to have going there visiting; how well they lived; and that the house was full of everything! and now to think, that the week before he died he sold his axe for rum.

“I’ve heard Uncle Isaac, a number of times within a year, talk about drinking, in what I thought a strange way, and as he never did before. I don’t believe he has done this without thinking about it a good while: the promise won’t do the boys any hurt.”

“That’s very true,” replied Sally; “for last summer, when Mr. Hanson’s barn was raised, the York and Pettigrew boys, mere children, got hold of the spirit that was brought for the raising, and were as drunk as fools; some laughed, but mother said she thought it was an awful sight.”

“I must needs say,” continued Ben, “when I saw old Mrs. Yelf, who has suffered so much from liquor, and is so destitute, bring it on to treat the mourners, and old Jonathan Smullen (who is going as fast as he can in the same way as Yelf) drink it, it kind of went against my feelings. I couldn’t help thinking that money had better have gone for food and clothing.”

“I suppose she thought she must.”

“That’s what makes me think the whole thing is wrong—that a poor creature must spend her last penny to treat her friends.”