For some time the vessel continued to drift under the same circumstances, without any signs of wind, or oven the prospect of a friendly mud flat on which they, could be quietly and comfortably stranded. This time they drifted below Spencer’s Island, and looked ont into the Bay of Fundy with a vague fear of being borne away into its waters, and carried off for immeasurable distances. But the tide soon turned after they had reached this place; and though the dark form of Ile Haute towered up gloomily from out the waters of the Bay of Fundy, yet they came no nearer-to it. On the turn of the tide they drifted back once more. This gave them much relief, for as long as they were within the Basin of Minas it did not seem so bad. As they drifted along they came to the place where Mr. Long had landed, and they watched anxiously to see if there were any signs of him. They found none. “If we only had a glass,” said Bart. “Captain Corbet, haven’t you a glass?” “Yes--a kind of a one.” “Where?” “It’s in the cabin.” “May I have it?” “O, yes.” Bart went down and looked for some time. At last he returned disappointed. “1 can’t find any glass, Captain Corbet,” said he. “Why, it’s jest in front of yer nose,” said Captain Corbet. “Come down. I’ll show you where it is.” Down went Bart after Captain Corbet, and, the latter pointed to the wall. . “There,” said he. “I wonder you didn’t see it.” “Where?” asked Bart. “Where? Why, there,” said Captain Corbet; and saying this he put his horny finger on a small triangular fragment of what was once a looking-glass, which small triangular fragment was fastened to a post, on one side of the cabin, with brass trunk nails. “There it is,” said Captain Corbet. “You don’t seem to have any eyes in your head, though you’re sharp enough sometimes, gracious knows.” “That!” cried Bart. “That! Why, it’s a spyglass I want.” “A spy-glass no, yes. Wal, I hain’t got none.” “You haven’t any!” “No; never owned one in all my born days.” “That’s odd, too. I thought every sea captain had to have one.” “Wal, no. There ain’t no great use for sich. They’re a kind o’ luxury, you see. I don’t have any call for them. There’s other machines, too, that they talk about, sech as quadrupeds an’ sextons; but I never bother my head about, ’em.” “Why, how do you manage to sail your schooner?” “How? Why, jest up sail an’ let her slide.” “But what do you do when you’re out of sight of land?” “Never git out of sight. Ef I should, I’d steer straight back for the land agin.” “What do you do in the fog?” asked Bart.