way, why of course I am only
too glad."

So the papers constituting Cabot Grant, Esq., sole owner of the Pretty
Harbour lobster factory were duly signed and recorded; and at sunset of
that very evening our hero stood regarding his suddenly acquired
property with the air of one who is dubiously pleased at a prospect.

CHAPTER XI.

BLUFFING THE BRITISH NAVY.

Cabot was not long allowed to enjoy his sense of possession before
experiencing some of the anxieties of proprietorship; for, even as he
stood overlooking his newly acquired factory, a clipper-built schooner,
showing the fine lines and tall topmasts of an American, rounded the
outer headland and entered the harbour. For a few minutes our young
engineer, who was learning to appreciate the good points of a vessel,
watched her admiringly as she glided across the basin and drew near the
factory wharf. Then he was joined by White, who had been detained at
the house, and they went down together to greet the new-comer.

She proved to be the fishing schooner "Ruth" of Gloucester, and her
skipper, who introduced himself as Cap'n Ezekiel Bland, explained that
he had come to the coast after bait.

"I 'lowed to get it in St. George," he said, "but there was a pesky
French frigate that wouldn't allow the natives to sell us so much as a
herring, though they had a-plenty and were keen to make a trade for the
stuff I've got aboard."

"What kind of stuff?" asked Cabot, curiously.

"Flour and pork mostly. You see, I'm bound on a long trip, and being
obliged to lay in a big supply of grub anyway, thought I might as well
stow a few extra barrels to trade for bait; but now it looks like I
couldn't get rid of 'em unless I give 'em away."

"There's plenty of bait in the bay," remarked White.

"Yes, so I've heard, and a plenty of frigates, too. The Frenchy must
have suspicioned where I was bound, for he has followed us up sharp,
and as we came by South Head I seen him jest a bilin' along 'bout ten
mile astarn, and now he'll poke into every hole of the bay till he
finds us. Anyhow, there won't be no chance to trade long as he's
round, for you folks don't dare say your soul's your own when there's a
Frenchy on the coast."

"Nor hardly at any other time," remarked White, moodily.

"There's another one, too--Britisher, I reckon--went up the bay towards
Humber Arm ahead of us. I only wish the two tarnal critters would get
into a scrap and blow each other out of the wat