“You tempt me, boys,” said Captain Corbet, with evident emotion. “You tempt me awful. I feel as though I hadn’t ought to go; but you’ve got a kind of a sort of a way of puttin things that makes it seem all so safe, an pleasant, an easy like that I’ve half a mind to resk it, an go off at all hazards. For there’s so much at stake! My babby! He pulls even now at my paternal heart-strings! His voice, even now, is a soundin in my aged ear! ‘Father,’ he seems to say, ‘go off, an hurry up with them thar sails.’ An then,” continued the captain, after a pause, everything seems favorable. The breeze is fair; the sea is calm; the sky is blue; an I’ll only be gone a couple of days at the farthest. ’Tain’t likely there’ll be another calm. The wind is fair for the Magdalen Islands. There’s provisions enough aboard here for months: An, as you say, there railly ain’t any danger. “You’re quite right, Bart. This here ship can never sink. Her timber cargo’ll keep her afloat till dumesday, an, what’s more, it’ll hold her together. An I’ve so much at stake! The babby! His fortune may now be made. It needs only one bold stroke, an all is done. Then we have the ship for our own, an the cargo, an we’ll sell em both, an divide the proceeds. It’ll be more’n a thousand pounds apiece, an the babby’ll be independent. He can receive a college eddication; he can grow up to be a gentleman an a scholyer; an he’ll live to bless the memory of the aged parient who now doos violence to his own conscience for the sake of the footor interests of his offspring. Yes, yes, it must be done. An, boys, I rayther guess, on the whole, that p’aps I’d best go, as you say.” The decision of the captain thus announced was received with acclamation by the boys, and these marks of approval served to drive away the last vestige of hesitation from Captain Corbet’s mind. “Wal,” said he, “if we’re goin to do it, we’d best do it as soon as possible. So, fust an foremost, we’d best let go the anchor.” Calling Wade, the captain then went forward, followed by all the boys. The anchor was let go. Rattle, rattle, rattle went chain and windlass, and at length the anchor stopped. “That’ll hold, I guess,” said the captain, “Now you’re hard an fast. Now I’ll know where to find you. You’re no longer aboard a ship. You’re on a fixed and immovable spot,--an island of the sea,--an here you’ll stay patient and quiet till I come back.” These remarks the boys heard with the utmost placidity, and accepted them as absolute fact.. They had flung themselves headlong into this somewhat dangerous project, and were now more eager than ever for its successful completion. After letting go the anchor, the next thing was to prepare the Antelope for her trip.