“Easily enough,” said Phil. “I believe they’ve gone visiting some of the islands, and somehow they’ve lost their sail, or their oars, or else they’ve been careless about fastening the boat, and she’s drifted away. And so I dare say that at this very moment they are on some desert island in this bay, within a mile or so of this town, looking out for help; but if they are, they must be pretty hungry by this time, for it isn’t every island that can furnish such a bill of fare as Ile Haute gave to Tom.” “A perfectly natural explanation,” said Arthur. “Those two fellows are both so abominably careless, that, if they did go ashore on any island, they’d be almost certain to leave the boat loose on the beach, to float away wherever it liked. I believe, as Phil says, that they’re on some island not far away.” “I don’t,” said Bruce. “I believe that they went fishing.” “Well, what are we to do about it? Oughtn’t we to hunt them up?” said Phil. “I don’t see the use,” said Tom. “They’ll be along by dinner time.” “Well, for my part,” said Arthur, “I can’t sit here and leave them to their fate. I believe they are in a fix, and consequently I intend to go off to hunt them up.” “So will I,” said Phil. “Well, of course, if you go, I’ll go too,” said Bruce. “So will I,” said Tom; “though I don’t believe there’s the slightest necessity. Bart and Pat’ll turn up somewhere about noon, and find us gone. They’ll then go off in search of us. Well, it’ll amount to the same thing in the end, and so, perhaps, it’s the best way there can be of filling up the time.” “I wonder if the Antelope’s got back,” said Bruce. “I don’t know.” “Suppose we go down and talk it over with Captain Corbet.” “All right.” With these words the boys rose from the breakfast table, and went down to the wharf. As they approached they saw the Antelope lying there at her former berth; for she had arrived about an hour before, and had come here. “Wal, boys,” said he, as he saw them, “here we air once more, jined together as before; though whether you did well in a desertin of the ship in mid-ocean is a pint that I don’t intend to decide. You might as well have turned into your old quarters aboard, an slep calm an comfortable, instead of rowin six or eight mile by night. However, you don’t none o’ you look any the wuss for it, an so we’ll let bygones be bygones. Ony I’m pleased, likewise relieved, to see you here, instead of havin to larn that you’re among the missin, an probably roamin the seas in a open boat. An where, may I ask, air Bart and Pat?” The answer to this question plunged the good Corbet from the comfort in which he had settled himself, down into the depths of anxiety and worriment. “What! Not back yit?” he said. “You don’t say so. Is this railly so?” “Yes.” “What! all yesterday, an all last night?” “Yes.” “An no word of partin--and no directions as to where they went, an when they’d return?” “Not a word.” “An nobody seen them go?” “No.”