They followed the old man about. The place extended over thirty acres, with a nice beach in front for the boat. It was an easy declivity, with pasture lands behind the house. The boat was a large whaler, and nets were spread on the grass to dry. O’Rafferty said that during the summer he had visits sometimes from old friends, and at other times people landed to see about the chances for sporting or getting minerals; but never, since he had been there, had a boy been on shore, and his wife had not seen a boy since she lost her son. He took them all over the place, and finally led them to a little enclosure, not far from the house. Inside was a grave mound, and at the head a white wooden slab, with these words painted upon it: In Memoriam. Michael O’Rafferty, beloved son of Dennis and Mary O’Rafferty, born Aug. 2, 1830, died June 5, 1845. Requiescat in Pace. The old man stood in silence, bareheaded, looking at the inscription. The boys removed their hats, and looked in solemn sympathy at the bereaved father, whose love and yearning for his lost boy were still so manifest, that the sight of a boy’s face could renew his grief after fifteen vanished years. Standing thus in silence, and reverencing that grief, they waited till the old man turned away, and then followed him, without a word, back across the field, and into the house. As they entered, the savory smell of broiled bacon came gratefully to their nostrils. The table was spread with delicious mealy potatoes, brown crusty bread, butter as yellow as gold, and clean, spotless plates.. If they had the power of wishing and gaining, they would have desired nothing better than this. “Mr. O’Rafferty,” said Bart, suddenly, “I forgot to mention that we left one of our number on the beach. I will take a run across the island, with your permission, and bring him here, for he is as hungry as we are, if not more so.” “Another one!” cried O’Rafferty. “An’ waitin’ on the beach! Why didn’t ye tell me before?” “Well, you see we were tired with our scramble, and I wanted to get rested before starting back. But I’ll go now, if you’ve no objection.” “Deed, thin, an’ I have an objection,” cried O’Rafferty. “D’ye think I’d let ye go starvin’ back agin before ye’d got a bite to ate? or, for that matter, d’ye think I’d let ye go at all? No; I’ll go meself.” “You? O, no. I won’t allow that,” began Bart. “It’s meself ‘ll go, an’ nobody else,” cried O’Rafferty, positively. “Ye’r all too hungry an’ tired. Besides, ye don’t know a step of the way. Ye came through the woods, an’ a mighty tough job ye found it; but I know an aisier way--it’s a path of me own. Ye said it was at the other end of the island, on the other side.” “Yes; at a rock with a tree on the edge.” “I know the place well. My path comes out close by there. I wonder ye didn’t come across it.”