iron, and everywhere it had been rent or shattered into a
thousand fantastic forms. At short intervals the massive cliffs were
wrenched apart to make room for narrow fiords, of unknown depth, that
penetrated for miles into the land, where they formed intricate mazes
of placid waterways. Beside them there were nestled tiny fishing
villages of whitewashed houses, though quite as often these were
perched on apparently inaccessible crags, overlooking sheltered coves
of the outer coast.

On the tossing waters fronting them, fleets of fishing boats, with
sails tanned a ruddy brown, like those of the "Sea Bee," or blackened
by coal tar, darted with the grace and fearlessness of gulls, or rested
as easily on the heaving surface, while the fishermen, clad in yellow
oilskins, pursued their arduous toil.

To our young American the doings of these hardy seafarers proved so
interesting that he never tired of watching them nor of asking
questions concerning their perilous occupation. And he had plenty of
time in which to acquire information, for so adverse were the winds
that only by the utmost exertion did White Baldwin succeed in getting
his schooner to the St. George's landing in time for Cabot to run to
the railway station just as the train from Port aux Basques was coming
in.

The two lads exchanged farewells with sincere regrets, after White had
extended a most cordial invitation to the other to finish the cruise
with him, and visit his home at Pretty Harbour. Much as Cabot wished
to accept this invitation, he had declined it for the present, on the
plea that he ought first to go to St. Johns. At the same time he had
promised to try and make the proposed visit before leaving the island,
to which White had replied:

"Don't delay too long, then, or you may not find us at home, for there
is no knowing what may happen when the warships get there."

Even David Gidge shook hands with the departing guest, and said it was
a pity he couldn't stay with them a while longer, seeing that he might
be made into a very fair sort of a sailor with proper training.

With one regretful backward glance, Cabot left the little schooner on
which he had come to feel so much at home, and sprinted towards the
station, where was gathered half the population of the village--men,
women, children, and dogs. The train was already at the platform as he
made his way through this crowd, wondering if he had time to purchase a
ticket, and he glanced a