They were down bright and early the next morning to haul the pots. In three of them, their efforts had been rewarded. In the fourth, the bait had been untouched. But one of the pots had begun as a money-maker in earnest. There were three good-sized lobsters in it. The other two had one each. They had saved some fish from the catch of the night before, so they baited up the pots again, put them overboard, and resumed their occupation ashore of constructing more pots, delegating young Tim to sell their catch among the cottagers, who had nearly all arrived for the summer. Young Tim was gone not a great while, either. He came back, whooping hilariously, and opened a small and rather begrimed fist, to disclose to their admiring gaze the sum of a dollar and twenty-five cents in silver money. “Hooray!” cried Joe Hinman, throwing up his cap. “At this rate, we’ll have the rope paid for, and the nails, and something more besides, when Jack and Henry Burns get back. We’ll come pretty near taking care of ourselves for the rest of the summer.” Already the crew, with visions of being self-supporting, began to have an increased respect for themselves. It was an agreeable sensation. They soon found, however, that they were handicapped by the need of a car to store their catch in; for, on some days when they had lobsters to sell, the cottagers didn’t happen to want any; and again it happened that they hadn’t any on hand when they were wanted. They began the construction of a car, therefore, out of some old packing-boxes, after they had finished a few more pots, and were hard at work on it when the yacht _Viking_ hove in sight on an afternoon. The _Viking_, following its frightful experience in the storm, had had a prosperous trip. The boys had made some heavy catches, and were returning with twenty-two hard-earned dollars. There was a joyful celebration down on the shore that evening, in honour of the _Viking’s_ return, and to commemorate their luck as fishermen. “You’ve been buying the stuff for us all along,” Joe Hinman had said to Jack Harvey. “Just come down to the camp to-night, and bring Tom and Bob and the Warren boys. We’ll get the food this time.” And they did, in generous style. There were seven of the biggest and fiercest-looking lobsters that they had caught in the last two days, broiling over a bed of red coals, when the visitors arrived. There were two tins of biscuit, baked in the sheet-iron oven. There were provisions that the crew had been able to buy with their own earnings. There were potatoes baked in the ashes, and coffee, steaming hot. “Yes, and what’s more, Jack,” said Joe Hinman, as they sat about the fire on the shore, “there’s enough stuff left to make about seven more pots. You fellows can go ahead and make the rest, if you want to; and we’ll take turns tending them and getting the bait.”