A fine, quivering tremble was thrilling through every beam of the schooner, vibrating each rope like a harp-string. It passed away; but before either Wilbur or Moran could comment upon it recommenced, this time much more perceptibly. Charlie dashed aft, his queue flying. “W'at makum heap shake?” he shouted; “w'at for him shake? No savvy, no likee, pretty much heap flaid; aie-yah, aie-yah!” Slowly the schooner heaved up as though upon the crest of some huge wave, slowly it settled, and again gradually lifted till Wilbur had to catch at the rail to steady his footing. The quivering sensation increased so that their very teeth chattered with it. Below in the cabin they could hear small objects falling from the shelves and table. Then with a sudden drop the “Bertha” fell back to her keel again, the spilled oil spouting from her scuppers, the masts rocking, the water churning and splashing from her sides. And that was all. There was no sound--nothing was in sight. There was only the frightened trembling of the little schooner and that long, slow heave and lift. Morning came, and breakfast was had in silence and grim perplexity. It was too late to think of getting away, now that the rudder was disabled. The “Bertha Millner” must bide where she was. “And a little more of this dancing,” exclaimed Moran, “and we'll have the planks springing off the stern-post.” Charlie nodded solemnly. He said nothing--his gravity had returned. Now in the glare of the tropical day, with the “Bertha Millner” sitting the sea as placidly as a brooding gull, he was Talleyrand again. “I tinkum yas,” he said vaguely. “Well, I think we had better try and fix the rudder and put back to Frisco,” said Moran. “You're making no money this way. There are no shark to be caught. SOMETHING'S wrong. They're gone away somewhere. The crew are eating their heads off and not earning enough money to pay for their keep. What do you think?” “I tinkum yas.” “Then we'll go home. Is that it?” “I tinkum yas--to-molla.” “To-morrow?” “Yas.” “That's settled then,” persisted Moran, surprised at his ready acquiescence; “we start home to-morrow?” Charlie nodded. “To-molla,” he said. The rudder was not so badly damaged as they had at first supposed; the break was easily mended, but it was found necessary for one of the men to go over the side. “Get over the side here, Jim,” commanded Moran. “Charlie, tell him what's wanted; we can't work the pintle in from the deck.” But Charlie shook his head. “Him no likee go; him plenty much flaid.” Moran ripped out an oath. “What do I care if he's afraid! I want him to shove the pintle into the lower gudgeon. My God,” she exclaimed, with immense contempt, “what carrion! I'd sooner work a boat with she-monkeys. Mr. Wilbur, I shall have to ask you to go over. I thought I was captain here, but it all depends on whether these rats are afraid or not.” “Plenty many shark,” expostulated Charlie. “Him flaid shark come back, catchum chop-chop.”