“Do you think that you are well enough to make the journey?” asked the captain. “I shall be as well off as I am waiting here,” continued Barclugh. “If you will give me two trusty men in a boat to land me at the mouth of Little Egg Harbor River, I shall stop with the first fisherman that I can find. I can buy his boat, if necessary, to take me on my journey. A few guineas will look big in his eyes,” argued Barclugh. “Very well, Mr. Gustavus, I shall undertake to land you whenever you are ready,” stated Captain Sutherland, as he arose to leave. “I shall be ready at sunrise,” replied Barclugh, whereupon the captain left the cabin for the deck. CHAPTER XXV Barclugh had been landed, as agreed, by the crew of the Albatross at the mouth of the Little Egg River, and had made his way to the hut of a Swedish fisherman; not a soul had seen whence he came. The fisherman’s hut was small, having been built out of the logs that were found on the beach and which had drifted from some lumberman’s raft of distant Maine or New Hampshire; yea, some claimed greater distinction. An experienced eye could distinguish the mahogany log that had floated from the West Indies with the Gulf Stream, and had been blown on the Jersey sands by a nor’east or sou’east gale. These logs were all smoothly hewn and chinked with a mortar made from the lime of the oyster shell and the sands cast up by the waves. The house sat on the shelving bank of the river, surrounded by ragged nets, tar-smeared cauldrons, floats and spars. A rather young woman stood in the doorway, while two children with bare feet played about and a yellow dog barked vociferously at the stranger’s approach. The children ran to the protection of their mother’s skirt when they saw the man come near. Two calves stopped their pranks to gaze at the new-comer. Loneliness stuck out from every corner of the habitation, and stolid contentment was evident in every pore of the buxom young Swedish mother. Barclugh was at his wit’s ends when he strode up to the doorway, after side-stepping a few times to escape the charges of the dog. The woman stamped her foot and ordered the dog off, in a language foreign to Barclugh’s comprehension. Bowing in his most gracious manner and holding his hat in his one free hand, Barclugh said graciously: “Good morning, Madam. Is your husband at home?” No answer, except a dubious shake of the head, accompanied by a most pleasant smile. She walked into the one room of the house, and offered Barclugh a chair when she had a good look at his crippled arm and bandaged shoulder. Everything about the fisherman’s home was plain, yet scrupulously clean. The floor was glistening with the purest of sand. The large fireplace took up nearly the whole end of the house. A kettle, a skillet, and a three-legged, shallow pot sat on the hearth. A broad table was on one side, which had been scoured with sand and soft soap until the knots alone showed what character the wood once had.