or those who were on her.” While his father was reading the old newspaper cutting Dave Hallard sat motionless, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. “That sailor told me the _Hatteras_ they saw was near Fanning Island, Dad,” he said eagerly. Captain Hallard looked up quickly. “That’s queer,” he said. “I wonder if she could have been the same ship.” “Well, if she was, Dad, and nobody’s got that platinum out of her――” “_If_,” Captain Hallard interrupted, laughing. “I guess there are lots of ifs. To begin with, your sailor probably was spinning a yarn, and even if he did see the old wreck of the _Hatteras_, she must have been nearly smashed to pieces long ago. Everything in her would be washed away by now. Besides, where was this island he saw her on?” “I remember he mentioned Fanning Island when you read it just now,” said Dave, “and besides that he said they were sailing between there and an island called Christmas when they came across the wreck of the _Hatteras_.” “That’s a pretty wide field,” commented Captain Hallard. “Those two places are hundreds of miles apart, and you might spend a lifetime hunting about there for what you were after.” “He also said there was a hill,” declared Dave, as the ancient mariner’s story came back to his memory, “that looked like the back of a camel.” “You’re sure he didn’t say a cow, or a rabbit?” Captain Hallard asked jocularly. “I’m afraid, Dave, he was having fun with you.” “I don’t think so,” Dave replied quietly. He had the greatest faith in his father’s judgment, but on the other hand he had a vivid memory of the old sailor’s simple directness. Aunt Martha, who had been sitting knitting industriously, as usual, throughout the conversation, made no comment, and registered a mental note of the fact that Dave was growing more like his father every day. The Hallards did not have those steady grey eyes for nothing. It had been inflexible devotion to one purpose which enabled the retired sea-captain to amass his original fortune, and Dave was already exhibiting the same capacity for sticking to his guns, whatever object he wished to achieve. And she knew that the boy’s determination to go to sea would never leave him until the salt water was rolling under him. This new notion that had entered his head, of treasure-ships lying waiting to disgorge their precious stores, would most likely add a romantic tinge to his desire, making certain that still another of the Hallards was to take to the roving life. A day or two later, after supper, Dave produced a school atlas, and pored over it with a pencil and paper, measuring off distances. “Dad, how long would it take for a bark to sail a hundred and fifty miles?” he asked. “About a thousand years if there wasn’t any wind.” “Yes, but with a fair wind?” “Oh, maybe a day or two. Why?” “Then it only takes a day or two to go from Fanning Island to Christmas Island in a bark in a fair wind?” said Dave.