t," said he, shoving off
the boat with his foot.

"Is this Colonel Montague's yacht?" asked Mrs. Taylor.

"It is."

"Well, I want to see him."

"O, if you wish to see the owner, you can come on board."

Just at that moment a steward in a white jacket called the party on deck
to supper. The old gentleman, Mrs. Montague, and her daughter descended
the companion-way first. As the colonel was about to follow them, the
sailing-master told him that the woman in the boat wished to see him. He
stepped over to the rail as Bobtail helped his mother upon the platform.

"Do you wish to see me, madam?" demanded the colonel, rather haughtily.

"My son wants to see this yacht very much. He's very fond of boats; and
I thought I'd make bold to ask you if he might," replied Mrs. Taylor;
and Bobtail thought then that his mother had more "cheek" than he had.

"You may come on board," replied the colonel, very much to the
astonishment of the young skipper, and apparently to the equal
astonishment of the sailing-master.

Bobtail went forward on the instant the permission was granted, leaving
his mother to follow at her leisure; but she stood for a moment talking
with the colonel. The young boatman examined the Penobscot in every part
except the cabin, which he was not permitted to enter while the family
were at supper. It would take all the exclamation marks in a fount of
type adequately to express his views of the Penobscot and her
appurtenances. The sailing-master followed him in his perambulations
above and below, and when the family had finished their meal, he
conducted him to the cabin, and permitted him to look into the
state-rooms. Bobtail had never seen anything half so magnificent, and he
expressed his delight and astonishment in the strongest language his
vocabulary afforded.

"Well, Robert, have you seen enough?" said his mother, when he returned
to the deck.

"I believe I've seen her through. I thought the Skylark was a big thing
before, but she's nothing but skim-milk compared with this yacht,"
replied he. "If I had such a yacht as this, I wouldn't go ashore at
all."

"Our people don't go on shore much," said the sailing-master, pleased
with the enthusiasm of the boy.

"I suppose she'll sail some--won't she?" added Bobtail.

"She has logged fifteen knots in a fresh breeze."

"How far have you been in her?"

"We have been down to Eastport and Mount Desert. We left Bar Harbor this
morning, and shall run up to