It was curious to see the old man whilst repairing his boat, which was, when given to him by Mr. Seekamp, but a wreck, as it lay upon the mud near Hog Island. It was curious to see him, whilst plying his hatchet, suddenly stop, seat himself on a piece of timber, and hold parley with one of the demons, who, in his frenzy, he fancied attacked him. After searching about his person, he would suddenly catch up a talisman, which shown to the enraged spirit would send him off, and leave the tormented in peace. His delight was visible in the chuckling joy of his speech, as he returned triumphantly and speedily to his accustomed work. Colson, who sat at the helm of his vessel, which creaked heavily under the breeze as it sprang up, was in one of his moods of reverie, when, stooping down and straining his eyes to windward, he saw a sail. It was a small boat, which seemed to have got more wind in her canvas than Robin could obtain. On came the boat; and the breeze began to swell the many-coloured sail of the bewitched barque; but Robin's canvas was heavy compared with the airy trimming of the feathers of the little duck that followed him. Like a creature of life, she skipped along, and soon overtook the old fisherman of the Orwell. "What ship ahoy! What ship ahoy!" exclaimed a gruff voice from the boat below, as Robin, leaning over the stern of his clumsy craft, looked closely into her with an eager eye. "It's only old Robinson Crusoe," replied the other. "You may speak long to him before you know what he means, even if you get any answer at all." "Ahoy! ahoy!" was, however, the old man's reply. "You've got the foul fiend aboard. What are you up to, Will? I know that's Will Laud's voice, though I haven't heard it lately. Whither bound, Will? whither bound?" "Confound the fellow!" muttered Will. "I never heard him say so much before. The foul fiend always sails with him. But give him a good word, John, and a wide berth." "Heavy laden, Robin? heavy laden? You've a good haul aboard. Crabs, or lobsters, or crayfish--eh, Robin? turbot, plaice, or flounders? soles, brill, or whiting? sanddabs, or eels? But you've got plenty, Bob, or I mistake, if not a choice. The tide is falling: you'll never reach the Grove to-night." "I shall get up in time, Will. You've lightened my cargo. You've got a pleasant companion aboard. You've got my black fiend on your mainsail. There he sits, pointing at you both, as if he had you in his own clutches. Take care he don't drive you aground. He sticks close to the sail, Will." "Heave ahoy! heave ahoy! Good-night!" and away bounded the boat, which was then passing Pin Mill, in the widest part of the river, and steering towards the shades of Woolverstone. The obelisk rose high over the dark trees, pointing to the clear, moonlit sky, its pinnacle still tinged with the last red light of that autumnal evening.