ised to pay better than anything else on the island. He
left us all in St. Johns, and it was only after his death that we came
over here to live and try to save something from the wreck of his
property. Now I don't know what is to become of us; for, unless one is
allowed to can lobsters, there isn't much chance of making a living on
the French shore. If it wasn't for the others, I should take this
schooner and try a trading trip to Labrador, but mother has become so
much of an invalid that I hate to leave her with only my sister."

"What is your sister's name?"

"Cola."

"That's an odd name, and one I never heard before, but I think I like
it."

"So do I," agreed White; "though I expect I should like any name
belonging to her, for she is a dear girl. One reason I am so fond of
this schooner is because it is named for her."

"How is that?"

"Why, it is the 'Sea Bee,' and these are her initials."

It was early on the second morning after leaving St. Pierre that the
"Sea Bee" drifted slowly into the harbour of Port aux Basques, where
the yacht-like steamer "Bruce" lay beside its single wharf. She had
just completed her six-hour run across Cabot Strait, from North Sidney,
eighty-five miles away, and close at hand stood the narrow-gauge train
that was to carry her passengers and mails to St. Johns. It would
occupy twenty-eight hours in making the run of 550 miles from coast to
coast, and our lad looked forward to the trip with pleasant
anticipations.

But he was again doomed to disappointment; for while the schooner was
still at some distance from the wharf, the train was seen to be in
motion. In vain did Cabot shout and wave his cap. No attention was
paid to his signals, and a minute later the train had disappeared.
There would not be another for two days, and the young engineer gazed
about him with dismay. Port aux Basques appeared to be only a railway
terminus, offering no accommodation for travellers, and presenting,
with its desolate surroundings, a scene of cheerless inhospitality.

"That's what I call tough luck!" exclaimed White Baldwin,
sympathetically.

"Isn't it?" responded Cabot; "and what I am to do with myself in this
dreary place after you are gone, I can't imagine."

"Seems to me you'd better stay right where you are, and run up the
coast with us to St. George's Bay, where there is another station at
which you can take the next train."

"I should like to," replied Cabot, "if you would