It was enough like theirs to be its mate, both as to size and colour, but there was not a scratch upon it nor upon the paddles. The canoe could not have been used more than once or twice since it had left the maker’s hands. “The joke is on us,” cried Bob to the boys in the _Spray_. “It’s another canoe. Harvey’s ‘governor,’ as he calls him, must have bought it for him and sent it down on the boat yesterday. He doesn’t seem to be afraid to trust us with his property, which is more than we would do with him.” “Perhaps he would rather trust the canoe with us than to trust himself with all of us just at this time,” replied Tom. “I feel like taking it along with us, to make him give up our tent, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t do. We can’t prove that he has it, either.” Harvey and Joe Hinman had clearly left the canoe to its fate, so there was nothing to do but to swim aboard the _Spray_ again, and the voyage down the island was resumed. “There’s one thing about it,” said Tom, as he scrambled into his clothing once more, “if Jack Harvey is as reckless and as careless in that canoe as he is in his yacht it will be washed up on shore some day without him. Not that I hope it will happen, but I look to see it.” “I don’t think he was born to be drowned,” said Henry Burns. Toward noon they came in sight of the southern extremity of the island, or the extremities, to speak more accurately, for the end of the island here was divided into a succession of thin points of land of various shapes, affording a number of small, rockbound harbours, snug and secluded, and each making good shelter for small vessels. They selected one of these, and, as they knew the waters to be filled with a species of small cod, they determined to lay up here for the afternoon and night, starting out again the next morning. They brought the _Spray_ well in to the head of the harbour which they selected, so that it was almost wholly land-locked when they dropped anchor and furled their sails. Toward evening the wind decreased, dying out almost entirely. Big banks of clouds piling up in the northwest told them that they might expect the breeze from that quarter in the morning. It was getting dusk and they were cooking their supper in the little cabin of the _Spray_, when young Joe, looking out of the companionway, exclaimed: “Why, here comes company; another yacht’s going to lie in here for the night, too.” Looking out, they saw a big black sloop coming slowly into the harbour. She had come up from the southward before the wind, and had only her mainsail set. There was hardly breeze enough to bring her in. She drifted in slowly, with one man at her wheel, and, as she came within hailing distance, young Joe, going forward, swung his cap and shouted, “Ahoy.” The man at the wheel did not respond, but, strangely enough, at the sound of young Joe’s voice the yacht slowly turned again, heading completely about, and stood out of the harbour again.