Again, they would paddle down to the Narrows, carry the canoe over into the western bay, leave it hidden until sundown, and then go down along the shore on that side of the island, repeating their walk along the shore. Some days they left the canoe hidden for the night away down the island, and came back to the village afoot along the road, going after it afoot the next night, and retracing their search of the night before, thus varying the search in a dozen different ways. But the result was always the same. It seemed this time as though the _Eagle_, if it had, indeed, ever lingered in the bay, had gone for good. What might have been the result if those who sailed in search of the mysterious craft had known that the description they now had of her was at fault, can never be known. Be that as it might, the exact yacht that Henry Burns and his friends had seen down at the foot of the island no longer existed. In its place there sailed—somewhere, on some waters—a handsome, black yacht, with a tall, slender, glistening topmast, white sails, and gleaming brass, in place of the dingy, dirty fisherman. She was as fine and handsome, and as polished as to deck and fittings, as the _Eagle_ had been of yore, only her colour remained as it had been changed—black. Was this boat the _Eagle_? Those who sailed the bay in quest of her had no means of knowing, for if they ever did get sight of her it was but a far, fleeting, shadowy glance. They never came within miles of her, this fleet, beautiful, and disappearing yacht. Across her stern in letters of gold was the name _Sprite_. It may have been most appropriate, for now and then a distant view of her tempted some bay craft to follow; but it was like a dog pursuing a bird on the wing. She always drifted on and on, out of reach, and disappeared. Since the night when the man that rowed Jack Harvey across the bay had climbed aboard this yacht and sailed southward, the yacht had never ventured near Grand Island, nor within miles and miles of it. If the man Chambers had any plan which he meant to execute, it did not suit his purpose to attempt it at this time. He had, perhaps, achieved all he desired now, in familiarizing himself with the waters of this coast. Of all those who joined in the search for the strange yacht, there was none more enthusiastic nor persistent than Jack Harvey. No sooner had his own yacht been brought back from Bellport by the crew, than he stocked up with a week’s provisions and began cruising day and night. To be sure, it was a most uncertain chase, but Harvey was willing to take chances that others would not; and if he should by mistake intercept some respectable craft for a few brief moments, he would rely on his assurance to carry him through and explain matters.