In all this time Anthony had seen no one on the island, and there was no sign of another habitation anywhere. Toward the mainland he'd frequently see a small sail, but they kept to their side of the bay; to seaward many vessels passed. Ships, schooners, brigs, and sloops, when the wind was in the west, ventured into the flat, near-shore waters, though none ever paused on their way. But one day while a tower of storm-clouds was building in the northwest he saw a small brig, standing on and off, and seeming in no haste. She was, as far as Anthony could see, a craft of no outstanding character; her hull had the unkempt look of a carelessly kept fishing-vessel; her dress of sails was patched, and discolored by long use, except one topsail, and that was white and new and shining. Though the wind freshened and blew levelly out of the windows of the storm-tower, the brig still kept pondering in and out; once a boat was lowered; but a shrill note crept into the wind, and the sea began to leap a little under its urging, and the boat was hoisted aboard directly; and the vessel pointed her nose toward the southeast and ran for deep water. While at his supper that night Anthony listened to the rain washing against the cabin windows and roaring on the roof. The wind carried the sand and spray before it; the thunder rattled, and the lightning drove sharply across the sky. But the fine fish Anthony had hooked smoked deliciously on the table; there was rice cooked white and dry; there were stewed leeks and good corn-bread; and a brandy-flask seemed to expand its stout mid-section and smile rosily at the candle-light. And, later, snug and safe in the stout cabin, Anthony put more wood upon the fire; for all of early June the east wind chilled the air with its wet touch; the candles were cheery, the billets flamed up, and, with a book and pipe and a comfortable chair, he saw the storm through to its peak; then he blew out the light and went to bed, while it still jeered and strove, but with a tiring voice; and he slept soundly. He found the beach cut and lashed desperately next day; and the seas were still roaring and boiling in, making the cuts deeper and changing the whole aspect of the shore. But the wind had gone down, and late in the day the sea sullenly did likewise. Then, far down the line of shore, as Anthony trudged along to view the havoc of the gale, he saw the stern of a long-boat sticking out of the sand. His eye told him, as he approached it, that some previous storm had driven it in and buried it; and now this one had uncovered it once more. The stern was badly stove; he saw that as he drew nearer; and another thing he saw was that the boat, for all her mishandling, was a new one. And then, as he stepped around the broken stern, he found painted upon it the name of _Rufus Stevens_!