There was little need for Harry Brackett to watch for the _Viking’s_ return. He knew of it by the arrival home of Squire Brackett, in the worst humour he had ever been in—if there could be degrees of such bad humour as the squire’s. He knew of it by his father’s ordering him to “clear out,” when he asked about the trip. So, his supper finished, he lost little time in obeying. Harry Brackett hurrying up the road and turning off at length into the pasture, and Mr. Carleton walking rapidly up the island, and coming at length to the same spot, they met, shortly after eight o’clock. Great news had Harry Brackett to impart: the arrival of the _Viking_. Important enough it was to Mr. Carleton, but he took it coolly—or seemed to. “Well, well,” he said, laughing, “you’re in for fun, aren’t you? I didn’t half expect you; the night started in so bad. I shouldn’t have come, if I hadn’t promised you I would. However, we’re in for it. Ha! ha! I declare it makes me feel like a boy again. We’ll have a laugh on them to-morrow, for I’m coming back to Captain Sam’s to-morrow afternoon, to stay.” “Now,” he continued, “you get back to the shore as quick as you can, and keep a watch on the _Viking_, to see whether the boys go aboard. If they do, we’ll have our little joke some other night. If they don’t—ho! ho! I’m too old to play jokes like a boy—but I’m in for a good time. I’ll be down to the shore by ten o’clock.” “He’s a queer sort of a man,” said Harry Brackett, as he started on a jog-trot back to the village. “I wish I didn’t have to use him,” said Mr. Carleton, as he watched the retreating figure. “But I don’t dare keep watch, myself; and I need some one to help run the boat.” It was a long and somewhat dreary wait for Harry Brackett, down by the shore. The sky was clearing, but it was wet and soggy underfoot, and the night was depressing. He almost fancied that he was sorry he had entered into the scheme, though he didn’t know exactly why. However, if Mr. Carleton, who had money to spend like a gentleman, and who was going to buy his father’s land, could indulge in such a prank, why shouldn’t he? Yet he jumped, and sprang up almost frightened, when a hand was laid suddenly on his shoulder and a low voice spoke in his ear: “Well, anybody appeared?” Mr. Carleton had come very quietly. The boy had not heard a footfall. “No,” he replied. “But how you startled me. What time is it?” “A little after ten,” replied Mr. Carleton. “We’ll wait till nearer eleven, to make sure.” He was not especially companionable, was Mr. Carleton, during their vigil. He screened himself behind a thin clump of alders, lighted a cigar, and smoked silently. Harry Brackett quivered with impatience. He wondered what it was about Mr. Carleton that so changed his appearance. Why, of course, it was the dress. Mr. Carleton, the night being bad, had discarded his light yachting costume, and wore a heavy, almost shabby-looking suit, with a rough felt hat.