The door to the fisherman's shack stood ajar, and in the opening showed the form of a man. As the light from the newly risen moon fell full upon the wrinkled features of the face, a pleased, contented smile was to be seen as he placidly puffed his corncob pipe and blew rings before him in the quiet, heavy, midnight air. It was Captain Ichabod, home again after the momentous happenings of the day when the dead body was found in the wreck of _The Isabel_. The Captain had been more or less methodical in his ways all his life, but he had never carried routine so far as to keep a diary. Probably during the past twenty years, living the life he had upon his lonely island, there had not been enough of incident to have suggested even the idea of such a record. But on this particular night, the fisherman, closeted within his shack, had been toiling through three long hours in order to set down a detailed narrative of the strange happenings in which he had been concerned since the coming of the great storm. He had ransacked his belongings until he found pencil and paper. Then, with his characteristically painstaking and deliberate manner, he had indited an itemized account of the various events. Now he had completed his work, and rested well content with his accomplishment. As he lounged in the doorway, he was taking a glimpse over the beautiful expanse of water, the while he smoked a final pipe before turning in. He felt that after the arduous endeavors of the day he was entitled to a sound and refreshing sleep. His usual calm had returned to him. At daylight that very morning when he awakened in the life-saving station at old Fort Macon, he had felt that he could never again occupy his old cabin home. Yet, here he was at night, resting well satisfied, without any qualm whatsoever. The exciting happening of the day--perhaps especially the opportunity to tell his old rival just what he thought of the fellow--had proved a balm to his over-strained nerves. He had come back home with a firm resolve to continue on there in tranquillity, and to enjoy to the full the days that were before him. It is true that he missed Shrimp. But, after mature meditation on the matter of the fowl's going away, the fisherman had about come to the conclusion that in all probability he had gone of his own free will and accord. It occurred to the Captain as possible that the bird might have been peeved by his master's sailing away without him as he hurried to Beaufort Town in quest of Doctor Hudson. Ichabod believed that Shrimp had seen his opportunity to cross to the mainland with the strangers and had seized on it in the hope of being able at last to fight it out with his rooster rival, whose challenging salute had been tantalizing him for many a day. Ichabod chuckled as he expressed the wish that Shrimp's encounter with this rival might give him as much satisfaction as had his own with the beach-comber.