Captain Corbet, in deep dejection, now retraced his steps to the boat. He thought for a time of applying to Ferguson. But a moment’s reflection made him give up that idea. He knew that Ferguson would be full of curiosity; that he would ask him all about the boys; and he feared that if he got the slightest hint of the facts of the case, he might start off instantly for the wreck, and thereby forestall him. It does not follow that Ferguson would really have done this; but this was Captain Corbet’s belief, and it influenced him, of course, precisely as if the belief had been well founded. Having thus dismissed the idea of appealing to Ferguson, it remained for him to decide what next to do. He did not think of going back. Better to take Ferguson into his confidence at once. He still clung to his first hope and his first plan, and, since Miramichi was the nearest place where he could rely upon finding sails, he began to think about going there. True, this would take up two or three days more, and the boys would be left to themselves all that time; but, as he had already accustomed himself to think of them in their present position as quite safe, he was able to entertain the thought of leaving them this way still, longer. He had committed himself too deeply to his plan, he had gone too far towards its execution, and he had built too largely upon its successful accomplishment, to be willing to give it up just yet. And so by the time he reached the boat he had about made up his mind to start off for Miramichi at once. With this resolve he went back to the schooner. The moment that he stepped on deck he was astonished at detecting in the atmosphere the smell of cigar smoke; and while he was yet standing, with open mouth and expanded nostrils, inhaling the unwelcome odor, he was still more unpleasantly surprised at seeing a figure emerge from the cabin, in whom at one glance he recognized the well-known and particularly dreaded lineaments of Captain Tobias Ferguson. His unwelcome visitor held out his hand, and wrung that of Captain Corbet with affectionate cordiality. “Didn’t expect to see you back again in these parts so soon. You must have made a fine run of it, too. How far did you go? Not to the Bay of Islands--hey? Why, there’s been a reg’lar old-fashioned calm about here, and this here wind ain’t much to speak of. And how are my young friends, the ragamuffins?” “Wal--pooty tol’able,” said Captain Corbet, in a faint voice. “Hm--glad to hear it. And where was it, did you say, that you went to?” “O--a--kine o’--genral sort o’ kerrews, like.” “Hm--and so you left them in the Bay of Islands?” “Wal--n--n--no--, ’twan’t exactly thereabouts.” “O--not Anticosti?” “Wal--n--no,” said Captain Corbet, with an increasing sense of discomfort. “Ah, St. Pierre?” “N--n--n--not exactly.” “St. Paul’s, then?” “Wal--‘twan’t St. Paul’s, nuther.”