"Thanks," said Herbert, rather taken aback by finding that his chance arrow had hit the mark, "but we've other things to do to-day. Sometime, perhaps, we'll return." "Well," said the old man, "there's a chance that other treasure might do you just as well. Nigh a hundred years ago, a Spanish ship went to pieces on the islands, and there were other wrecks that perhaps cast treasure on the sands." "Oh, I remember," exclaimed Clare, "a poem that I learned at school, 'The Wreck of the Pocahontas.' Celia Thaxter wrote it. It begins something like this:-- "'I lit the lamps in the lighthouse tower, For the sun dropped down and the day was dead; They shone like a glorious clustered flower, Ten golden and five red.'" "Ah, Mrs. Thaxter," said Capt. Dickerson, "there isn't much on the islands that she hasn't put into poetry. But you'll hear all about her over at Appledore, and I won't spoil your fun by trying to tell what other people can tell better." "Haven't you some stories of your own?" "There won't be time for a long story," interposed Herbert, looking at his watch. "We must be prompt for dinner." "Just one," pleaded Martine, smiling at Capt. Dickerson. "Most of the stories of these parts belong to Kittery and Portsmouth," rejoined Capt. Dickerson. "You'll have to fish them up there. The only one I can think of you mightn't like--except it will interest you if you love dogs--as most young ladies do." "Well, tell us, please." "It's about a murder that took place on Smutty Nose once when I was off on a cruise. Two helpless women in a little cottage were killed by a wretch who thought there was money saved in the house. A third woman with a small dog in her arms escaped and hid here among the rocks. She was terribly scared that the little creature would bark and betray her." "Did it?" "Well, she crouched in the darkness, while she heard the murderer pass close by, calling and threatening. But the dog seemed to understand, and kept perfectly quiet until daylight. The woman had heard the murderer rowing away at dawn, and when people on Appledore were stirring they saw her making frantic signs, and they came over and got her and the dog." "Was the murderer ever caught?" asked Herbert. "Yes--and he paid the penalty. But I don't know how long the dog lived, young ladies, for I see that's what you'd like to hear," added Capt. Dickerson, turning to the girls. "I wish I could tell you more," he continued, after a pause. "I dare say you know the Shoals were once called 'Smith's Eyelands,' and there's a monument to Capt. Smith on Star. You've heard about Gorges, I suppose; well, they were in Gorges and Mason's grant, and when Massachusetts people stepped into Maine, the most northerly went to Maine, and the others to New Hampshire." "Any other great men here, besides Smith?" asked Herbert.