Donald seated himself on a rock, with his gaze directed towards Belfast. His particular desire just then was to see Samuel Rodman, in order to learn whether he was to have the job of building the Maud. He felt able to do it, and even then, as he thought of the work, he had in his mind the symmetrical lines of the new yacht, as they were to be after the change in the model which his father had explained to him. He recalled a suggestion of a small increase in the size of the mainsail, which had occurred to him when he sailed the Sea Foam. His first aspiration was only to build a yacht; his second was to build one that would beat anything of her inches in the fleet. If he could realize this last ambition, he would have all the business he could do.

The yacht fleet did not appear up the bay; but it was only nine o'clock in the morning, and possibly the meeting of the club would not take place till afternoon. If any one had told him the hour, he had forgotten it, but the former meeting had been in the forenoon. He was too nervous to sit still a great while, and, rising, he walked about, musing upon his grand scheme. The place was an elevated platform of rock, a portion of it covered with soil to the depth of several feet, on which the grass grew. It was not far above the water even at high tide, nor were the bluffs very bold. The plateau was on a peninsula, extending to the north from the island, which was not unlike the head of a turtle, and the shape had given it a name. Donald walked back and forth on the headland, watching for the fleet.

"I wonder if Laud Cavendish was digging for clams up here," thought he, as he observed a spot where the earth appeared to have been disturbed.

The marks of Laud's clam-digger were plainly to be seen in the loam, a small quantity of which remained on the sod. Certainly the swell had been digging there; but it could not have been for clams; and Donald was trying to imagine what it was for, when he heard footsteps near him. Coming towards him, he discovered Captain Shivernock, of the city; and he had two problems to solve instead of one; not very important ones, it is true, but just such as are suggested to everybody at times. Perhaps it did not make the least difference to the young man whether or not he ascertained why Laud Cavendish had been digging on the Head, or why Captain Shivernock happened to be on the island, apparently without any boat, at that time in the morning. I do not think Donald would have given a nickel five-cent piece to have been informed correctly upon either point, though he did propose the question to himself in each case. Probably Laud had no particular object in view in digging—the ground did not look as though he had; and Captain Shivernock was odd enough to do anything, or to be anywhere, at the most unseasonable hours.

"How are you, Don John?" shouted the captain, as he came within hailing distance of Donald.

"How do you do, Captain Shivernock," replied the young man, rather coldly, for he had no regard, and certainly no admiration, for the man.

"You are just the man I wanted to see," added the captain.

Donald could not reciprocate the sentiment, and, not being a hypocrite, he made no reply. The captain seemed to be somewhat fatigued and out of breath, and immediately seated himself on the flat rock which the young man had occupied. He was not more than five feet and a half high, but was tolerably stout. The top of his head was as bald as a winter squash; but extending around the back of his head from ear to ear was a heavy fringe of red hair. His whiskers were of the same color; but, as age began to bleach them out under the chin, he shaved this portion of his figure-head, while his side whiskers and mustache were very long. He was dressed in a complete suit of gray, and wore a coarse braided straw hat.

Captain Shivernock, as I have more than once hinted, was an eccentric man. He had been a shipmaster in the earlier years of his life, and had made a fortune by some lucky speculations during the War of the Rebellion, in which he took counsel of his interest rather than his patriotism. He had a strong will, a violent temper, and an implacable hatred to any man who had done him an injury, either actually or constructively. It was said that he was as faithful and devoted in his friendships as he was bitter and relentless in his hatreds; but no one in the city, where he was a very unpopular man, had any particular experience of the soft side of his character. He was a native of Lincolnville, near Belfast, though he had left his home in his youth. He had a fine house in the city, and lived in good style. He was said to be a widower, and had no children. The husband of his housekeeper was the man of all work about his place, and both of them had come with their employer from New York.

He seldom did anything like other people. He never went to church, would never put his name upon a subscription paper, however worthy the object, though he had been known to give a poor man an extravagant reward for a slight service. He would not pay his taxes till the fangs of the law worried the money out of him, but would give fifty dollars for the first salmon or the first dish of peaches of the season for his table. He was as full of contradictions as he was of oddities, and no one knew how to take him. One moment he seemed to be hoarding his money like a miser, and the next scattering it with insane prodigality.

"I'm tired out, Don John," added Captain Shivernock, as he seated himself, fanning his red face with his hat.

"Have you walked far, sir?" asked Donald, who was well acquainted with the captain; for his father had worked on his boat, and he was often in the shop.

"I believe I have hoofed it about ten miles this morning," replied Captain Shivernock with an oath; and he had a wicked habit of ornamenting every sentence he used with a profane expletive, which I shall invariably omit.

"Then you have walked nearly the whole length of the island."

"Do you mean to tell me I lie?" demanded the captain.

"Certainly not, sir," protested Donald.

"My boat got aground down here. I started early this morning to go down to Vinal Haven; but I'm dished now, and can't go," continued Captain Shivernock, so interlarding with oaths this simple statement that it looks like another thing divested of them.

"Where did you get aground?" asked Donald.

"Down by Seal Harbor."

"About three miles from here."

"Do you think I lied to you?"

"By no means, sir."

Donald could not divine how the captain had got aground near Seal Harbor, if he was bound from Belfast to Vinal Haven, though it was possible that the wind had been more to the southward early in the morning, compelling him to beat down the bay; but it was not prudent to question anything the captain said.

"I ran in shore pretty well, and took the ground. I tried for half an hour to get the Juno off, but I was soon left high and dry on the beach. I anchored her where she was, and I'm sorry now I didn't set her afire," explained the captain.

"Set her afire!" exclaimed Donald.

"That's what I said. She shall never play me such a trick again," growled the strange man.

"Why, it wasn't the fault of the boat."

"Do you mean to say it was my fault?" demanded the captain, ripping out a string of oaths that made Donald shiver.

"It was an accident which might happen to any one."

"Do you think I didn't know what I was about?"

"I suppose you did, sir; but any boat may get aground."

"Not with me! if she did I'd burn her or sell her for old junk. I never will sail in her again after I get home. I know what I'm about."

"Of course you do, sir."

"Got a boat here?" suddenly demanded the eccentric.

"Yes, sir; I have our sail-boat."

"Take me down to Seal Harbor in her," added the captain, rising from his seat.

"I don't think I can go, sir."

"Don't you? What's the reason you can't?" asked the captain, with a sneer on his lips.

"I have to meet the yacht club here."

Captain Shivernock cursed the yacht club with decided unction, and insisted that Donald should convey him in his boat to the place where the Juno was at anchor.

"I have to measure the yachts when they come, sir."

"Measure—" but the place the captain suggested was not capable of measurement. "I'll pay you well for going."

"I should not ask any pay if I could go," added Donald, glancing up the bay to see if the fleet was under way.

"I say I will pay you well, and you will be a fool if you don't go with me."

"The yachts haven't started yet, and perhaps I shall have time to get back before they arrive."

"I don't care whether you get back or not; I want you to go."

"I will go, sir, and run the risk," replied Donald, as he led the way down to the boat.

Shoving her off, he helped the captain into her, and hoisted the sail.

"What boat's that over there?" demanded Captain Shivernock, as he pointed at the craft sailed by Laud Cavendish, which was still standing on towards Searsport.

Donald told him who was in her.

"Don't go near her," said he, sternly. "I always want a good mile between me and that puppy."

"He is bound to Camden, and won't get there for a week at that rate," added Donald.

"Don't care if he don't," growled the passenger.

"I don't know that I do, either," added the skipper. "Laud wants to buy a boat, and perhaps you can sell him yours, if you are tired of her."

"Shut up!"

Donald did "shut up," and decided not to make any more talk with the captain, only to give him civil answers. Ordinarily he would as soon have thought of wrestling with a Bengal tiger as of carrying on a conversation with such a porcupine as his passenger, who scrupled not to insult man or boy without the slightest provocation. In a few moments the skipper tacked, having weathered the Head, and stood into the little bay west of it.

"Don John," said Captain Shivernock, sharply, fixing his gaze upon the skipper.

"Sir?"

The captain took his wallet from his pocket. It was well filled with greenbacks, from which he took several ten-dollar bills—five or six of them, at least.

"I will pay you," said he.

"I don't ask any pay for this, sir. I am willing to do you a favor for nothing."

"Hold your tongue, you fool! A favor?" sneered the eccentric. "Do you think I would ask a little monkey like you to do me a favor?"

"I won't call it a favor, sir."

"Better not. There! take that," and Captain Shivernock shoved the bills he had taken from his wallet into Donald's hand.

"No, sir! I can't take all that, if I do anything," protested the skipper, amazed at the generosity of his passenger. The captain, with a sudden spring, grasped a short boat-hook which lay between the rail and the wash-board.

"Put that money into your pocket, or I'll smash your head; and you won't be the first man I've killed, either," said the violent passenger.

Donald did not find the money hard to take on its own merits, and he considerately obeyed the savage order. His pride, which revolted at the idea of being paid for a slight service rendered to a neighbor, was effectually conquered. He put the money in his pocket; but as soon as the captain laid down the boat-hook, he took it out to count it, and found there was fifty dollars. He deposited it carefully in his wallet.

"You don't mean to pay me all that money for this little job?" said he.

"Do you think I don't know what I mean?" snarled the passenger.

"I suppose you do, sir."

"You suppose I do!" sneered the cynic. "You know I do."

"Fifty dollars is a great deal of money for such a little job."

"That's none of your business. Don John, you've got a tongue in your head!" said Captain Shivernock, pointing his finger at the skipper, and glowering upon him as though he was charging him with some heinous crime.

"I am aware of it, sir," replied Donald.

"Do you know what a tongue is for?" demanded the captain.

"It is of great assistance to one in talking."

"Don't equivocate, you sick monkey. Do you know what a tongue is for?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's a tongue for?"

"To talk with, and—"

"That's enough! I thought you would say so. You are an ignorant whelp."

"Isn't the tongue to talk with?"

"No!" roared the passenger.

"What is it for, then?" asked Donald, who did not know whether to be alarmed or amused at the manner of his violent companion.

"It's to keep still with, you canting little monkey! And that's what I want you to do with your tongue," replied Captain Shivernock.

"I don't think I understand you, sir."

"I don't think you do. How could you, when I haven't told you what I mean. Listen to me." The eccentric paused, and fixed his gaze earnestly upon the skipper.

"Have you seen me this morning?" demanded he.

"Of course I have."

"No, you haven't!"

"I really thought I had."

"Thought's a fool, and you're another! You haven't seen me. If anybody in Belfast asks you if you have seen me, tell 'em you haven't."

"If the tongue isn't to talk with, it isn't to tell a lie with," added Donald.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the captain; "you've got me there."

He produced his wallet again, and took a ten-dollar bill from the roll it contained, which he tendered to Donald.

"What's that for?" asked the skipper.

"Put it in your pocket, or I'll mash your empty skull!"

Donald placed it with the other bills in his wallet, more than ever amazed at the conduct of his singular passenger.

"I never allow anyone to get ahead of me without paying for my own stupidity. Do you go to Sunday School, and church, and missionary meetings?" asked the captain, with a sneer.

"I do, sir."

"I thought so. You are a sick monkey. You don't let your tongue tell a lie."

"No, sir; I don't mean to tell a lie, if I can help it, and I generally can."

"You walk in the strait and narrow way which leads to the meeting-house. I don't. All right! Broad is the way! But one thing is certain, Don John, you haven't seen me to-day."

"But I have," persisted Donald.

"I say you have not; don't contradict me, if you want to take that head of yours home with you. Nobody will ask whether you have seen me or not; so that if a lie is likely to choke you, keep still with your tongue."

"I am not to say that I have seen you on the island?" queried Donald.

"You are not," replied the captain, with an echoing expletive.

"Why not, sir?"

"None of your business! Do as you are told, and spend the money I gave you for gingerbread and fast horses."

"But when my mother sees this money she will want to know where I got it."

"If you tell her or anybody else, I'll hammer your head till it isn't thicker than a piece of sheet-iron. Don't let her see the money. Hire a fast horse, and go to ride next Sunday."

"I don't go to ride on Sunday."

"I suppose not. Give it to the missionaries to buy red flannel shirts for little niggers in the West Indies, if you like. I don't care what you do with it."

"You don't wish anybody to know you have been on the island this morning—is that the idea, Captain Shivernock?" asked Donald, not a little alarmed at the position in which his companion was placing him.

"That's the idea, Don John."

"I don't see why—"

"You are not to see why," interrupted the captain, fiercely. "That's my business, not yours. Will you do as I tell you?"

"If there is any trouble—"

"There isn't any trouble. Do you think I've killed somebody?—No. Do you think I've robbed somebody?—No. Do you think I've set somebody's house on fire?—No. Do you think I've stolen somebody's chickens?—No. Nothing of the sort. I want to know whether you can keep your tongue still. Let us see. There's the Juno."

"Somebody will see your boat, and know that you have been here—"

"That's my business, not yours. Don't bother your head with what don't concern you," growled the passenger.

The Juno was afloat, but she could not have been so many minutes, when Donald came alongside of her. It was now about half tide on the flood, and she must have grounded at about half tide on the ebb. This fact indicated that Captain Shivernock had left her at four o'clock in the morning. The owner of the Juno stepped into her, and Donald hoisted the sail for him. The boat was cat-rigged, and about twenty-four feet long. She was a fine craft, with a small cabin forward, furnished with every convenience the limited space would permit. The captain seated himself in the standing-room, and began to heap maledictions upon the boat.

"I never will sail in her again," said he. "I will burn her, and get a centre-board boat."

"What will you take for her, sir?" asked Donald.

"Do you want her, Don John?" demanded the captain.

"I couldn't afford to keep her; but I will sell her for you."

"Sell—" it is no matter what; but Captain Shivernock suddenly leaped back into Donald's boat, and her skipper wondered what he intended to do next. "She is yours, Don John!" he exclaimed.

"To sell for you?"

"No! Sell her, if you like, but put the money in your own pocket. I will sail up in your boat, and you may go to Jerusalem in the Juno, if you like. I will never get into her again," added the captain, spitefully.

"But, Captain Shivernock, you surely don't mean to give me this boat."

"Do you think I don't know what I mean?" roared the strange man, after a long string of expletives. "She is yours, now; not mine. I'll give you a bill of sale as soon as I go ashore. Not another word, or I'll pound your head. Don't tell anybody I gave her to you, or that you have seen me. If you do there will be a job for a coffin-maker."

The captain shoved off the boat, and laid her course across the bay, evidently to avoid Laud Cavendish, whose craft was a mile distant; for he had probably put in at Searsport. Donald weighed the anchor of the Juno, and sailed for Turtle Head, hardly knowing whether he was himself or somebody else, so amazed was he at the strange conduct of his late passenger. He could not begin to comprehend it, and he did not have to strain his logic very much in coming to the conclusion that the captain was insane.