The schooner came near. She rounded to; she dropped her anchor. A boat was lowered. Three figures appeared in the boat--one rowing with vigorous strokes, two smaller ones in the stern. The boat came nearer. In the stern they saw the two, and recognized them as they came nearer. They had felt sure at the first, but now they saw with their own eyes Arthur and Tom; and O, with what joy, with what jubilation, with what shouts, what cries, what leaps of joy! Arthur and Tom waved their hands, they stretched out their arms, they called out incoherent words, and it was with incoherent words that those on the shore responded. The boat grounded. The boys ashore rushed into the water to seize Arthur and Tom in their arms. Then the man who had rowed the boat stood up and looked at them. They saw him. They knew him. Captain Ferguson! Tears were in his eyes, and he tried to hide them, but couldn’t. Captain Tobias Ferguson, bold sailor, strong, brave man, broke down on this occasion, and cried like a child. Then he went about shaking hands and talking wildly. He grabbed old Solomon’s hand, and shook it most warmly. He asked anxiously about his health. Solomon was still sobbing and crying with utter joy. Neither of them knew what he was doing. Both felt the same emotions, yet the emotions of each arose from the same cause, and that was, anxiety about these boys, whom they loved, for whom they had feared so much, and suffered so much, and over whose safety they now rejoiced with such deep joy. Captain Ferguson did not say much, but made them all get into the boat and go aboard the Fawn. He did not look at their camp, nor did they feel any regret at leaving the work which had caused them so much toil. Solomon only stipulated that he should take away the provisions--the barrels of biscuit, the potted meats, the hams, and whatever else had been accumulated there on that desolate shore. Nor was there any reason for longer delay, for the associations of the place were by no means of a kind which they chose to dwell upon; so the Fawn turned her back upon Anticosti, and stood out to sea. As they passed the headland Bruce pointed out to Arthur and Tom the broken fragments of the Petrel, which still lined the rocky shore. But the eye of Captain Ferguson was turned elsewhere. He was on the lookout for the Antelope. “We’ve got to go back after her,” said he. “If we wait for her, she won’t be here till to-morrow morning, and we can run down to where she is in less than an hour.” As he said these words the Fawn passed outside the headland, and there, far away to the east, heading out to sea in one of her tacks, was the Antelope. There she was, her very venerable self at last, the schooner for which they had so often searched the water, for whose appearance they had so longed and hoped, and which never came through all those weary and despairing days. Now, when she was not needed, and, in fact, was not particularly wanted, she made herself visible.