They tied the flap of the tent carefully, saw that the tent-pegs were firm, and the guy-ropes all right, and departed. By half-past seven o’clock they were out aboard, and the two yachts were under way. “Too bad the _Spray_ isn’t coming along,” said Henry Burns; “but I’ve left word for them to follow in the morning.” There was a light westerly breeze blowing, which was favourable for a straight run to the islands, with sheets started a little, and everything drawing. They set the forestaysail and both jibs and the club-topsail on the _Viking_; and, there being no sea, with the wind offshore, they made fast time. The _Surprise_, with everything spread, followed in the wake of the larger yacht. “We’ll tell the mackerel you are coming,” called Henry Burns to the crew. “They know it already. We told them we were coming back. We saw ’em first,” responded Tim. They were among the islands by ten o’clock, though the wind had fallen. They anchored in the lee of one, and prepared to turn in. “We ought to be out early,” said Harvey; “but how are we going to wake up? I’m sure to sleep till long after sunrise, unless somebody wakes me. We ought to have some alarm to set, to wake us.” “Don’t need it,” replied Henry Burns. “I’ll set myself. I don’t know how I do it, but if I go to bed thinking I want to wake up at a certain hour, I almost always do wake at about that time. How will four o’clock do?” “Early enough,” said Harvey; “but don’t over-sleep.” Sure enough, Henry Burns was awake next morning by a few minutes after four o’clock; but he was not ahead of Little Tim, this time, who was so excited that he had slept all night with one eye half-open, and who had been up once or twice in the dead of night, thinking it must be near morning. He was over the rail of the _Viking_, at the first appearance of Henry Burns, and, between them, there was no more sleep for anybody. It was dead calm over all the bay; and, one thing was certain, there was as yet no news of the mackerel having come in, for there were no boats out. “We’ve stolen a march on the fishermen for once,” exclaimed Tom, as they ate a hurried breakfast and got the lines ready. “I wonder if the mackerel are looking for breakfast, too.” They put out, shortly, in the two dories, rowing down a half-mile to where the crew had seen the fish the night before. There was no sign of the water breaking, anywhere, to denote the presence of a school. “Never mind, we’ll throw out, anyway,” said Harvey. “Sometimes they’re around when they don’t break. They may be feeding deeper.” Taking a long-handled tin dipper, he filled the bucket of bait nearly to the brim with sea-water, and stirred it vigorously for a moment. Then he took a dipper of the stuff and threw it as far from the boat as he could, scattering it broadly over the surface of the water. They waited, watching eagerly, but the bits of ground fish sank slowly, undisturbed.