This region had been “cut over” once; it had been burned over more than once; and yet old Spencer, with his handful of employees and his deliberate little mill, wore a prosperous look on his inscrutable Yankee face. There was no inhabited house within ten miles, but he was apparently contented. McGlory, it seemed, knew the channel; so Dick surrendered the wheel when they were nearing the island, and stood at his elbow, watching the landmarks. The mate volunteered no information, but Dick needed none; he made out the ranges with the eye of a born sailor. But even he was surprised when the _Merry Anne_ swung around into the landlocked harbor and glided up to a rude wharf that was piled with lumber. Behind it was the mill; behind that, at some distance, a comfortable house, nearly surrounded by other smaller dwellings. “So this is Spencer, eh?” observed Dick. “This is Spencer,” McGlory replied. The owner himself was coming down to meet them, reading over a letter from his friend, Stenzenberger, as he walked. His wife came out of her kitchen and stood on her steps to see the schooner. Two or three men in woodman's flannels were lounging about the mill, and these sat up, renewed their quids from a common plug, and stared. “How are you?” nodded Spencer, pocketing the letter. He caught the line and threw it over a snubbing post. “This Mr. “Smiley?” “That's who,” said Dick. “How are you, Joe?” to McGlory. “How are you, Mr. Spencer?” In a moment they were fast, and Dick had leaped ashore. He caught Spencer's shrewd eyes taking him in, and laughed, “Well, I guess you 'll know me next time.” “Guess I will.” There was a puzzled, even disturbed expression on the lumberman's face. “I was thinking you didn't look much like your cousin. The stuffs all ready for you there. You'd better put one of your men on to check it up. Will you walk up and take a look around the place?” “Thanks--guess I 'll stay right here and hustle this stuff aboard. I'd like to put out again after dinner.” Spencer drew a plug from a trousers pocket, offered it to Dick, who at the sight of it shook his head, and helped himself to a mouthful. Then his eyes took in the schooner, her crew, and the sky above them. “Wind's getting easterly,” he observed. “Looks like freshening up. Mean business getting out of here against the wind--no room for beating. You'd better leave your mate to load and have a look at the place.” “Well, all right; McGlory, see to getting that stuff aboard right off, will you? We 'll try to get out after dinner sometime.” When Spencer had shown his guest the mill and the houses of his men, he led the way to his own home and seated his guest in the living room. Here from a corner cupboard he produced a bottle and two glasses.