It was morning when they passed Halifax. By noon they passed a broad bay, which they decided to be Margaret’s Bay. By evening they had reached another broad bay. At its mouth, and well out in the ocean, lay an island, with black and rocky sides, and wooded top. On sailing inside of this, they noticed that it was inhabited, and from this point of view showed houses and farms. A few miles farther on was another island, which was cultivated from one end to the other, and appeared to be thickly populated. Farther on there appeared other islands, and wooded shores, and cultivated fields, and high hills. This, they felt sure, was their destination--Ma-hone Bay. The Antelope passed inside of the second island, and here dropped anchor. It was yet more than an hour before sundown, and the boys went ashore upon the island nearest to make inquiries, not about the plunder of the Spanish Main, but merely of a general nature. The island was thickly inhabited, and on walking a short distance from the beach where they had left their boat, they found a road which seemed well travelled, and appeared to run from one end of the island to the other. In a little while an old man came along on an ox-cart, who bowed with a good-natured smile, and remarked that it was a fine evening. To this they assented. “What’s the name of this island?” asked Bruce. Upon being thus questioned, the old man stopped his oxen, and, looking around upon the young faces before him, he said,-- “What?” “What’s the name of this island?” “Tancook,” said the old man. “Tancook?” repeated Bruce; “and what’s the name of that other one?”--pointing to the outer island, which they had first encountered. “That thar?” said the old man, looking where Bruce pointed,--“that thar? Why, we call that thar island by the name of Ironbound.” It was a fine name, a sonorous and at the same time an appropriate name, and deeply impressed the boys. “Fine farming country this,” said Bruce, once more plunging into the conversation. “Wal, pooty so so,” said the old man. “We ain’t got no reason to complain; though, what with diphthery, an sich, it’s mighty hard on children.” “A good many people here, apparently,” continued Bruce, in a lively key. “Wal, pooty tol’ble,” said the old man; “’bout a hundred families on this here.” “Farmers or fishermen?” asked Bruce. “Wal, a leetle of the one, an a leetle of the tother.” “You’ve got a church here too,” continued Bruce. “Yas--a meetin-house.” “What persuasion is that meeting-house?” asked Bruce, in an anxious tone of voice, as though the fortunes of the whole party depended on the answer. “Wal, mostly Baptist,” said the old man, “though not all. Were kine o’ cut off, an live mostly to ourselves. But Tancook ain’t sich a bad place, arter all, and we manage to grub along.” “It’s a fine bay around here,” said Bruce, with a grand, patronizing sweep of his right arm, which seemed meant to include all creation.