to the harbour water; and rocky
hills, stripped of verdure by the winds of a thousand years, hid their
bald heads in the fog.

"I don't know what it _is_," said Bill o' Burnt Bay to the boys; "but
I know well enough what it _ought_ t' be."

"'Tis never the Shore," Billy Topsail declared.

"I'm 'lowin'," said Skipper Bill, but yet doubtfully, "that 'tis one
o' the Pony Islands. They lies hereabouts," he continued, scratching
his head, "long about thirty mile off the mainland. We're on a
westerly shore, and that means Islands, for we've never come t' the
westerly coast o' Newfoundland. If I could get a peep at the Bald-head
I could tell for certain."

The grim landmark called the Bald-head, however,--if this were indeed
one of the Pony Islands--was in the mist.

"I'll lay 'tis the Pony Islands," Billy Topsail declared again.

"It may be," said the skipper.

"An' Little Pony, too," Billy went on. "I mind me now that we
sheltered in this harbour in the _Fish Killer_ afore she was lost on
Feather's Folly."[6]

"I 'low _'tis_," Skipper Bill agreed.

Whether the Pony Islands or not--and whether Big Pony or Little
Pony--clearing weather would disclose. Meantime, as Archie Armstrong
somewhat tartly pointed out, the _Spot Cash_ was to be looked to. She
had gone aground at low tide, it seemed; and she was now floating at
anchor, free of the bottom. The butt of her bowsprit had been driven
into the forecastle; and the bowsprit itself had gone permanently out
of commission. Otherwise she was tight and ready. The practical-minded
Archie Armstrong determined, with a laugh, that notwithstanding the
loss of a bowsprit the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company
would not have to go out of business for lack of insurance. And after
an amazingly hearty and hilarious breakfast, which Bagg, the
cook--Bagg _was_ the cook--presently announced, the folk of the _Spot
Cash_ went ashore to take observations.

"We'll rig a bowsprit o' some sort," Bill o' Burnt Bay remarked,
"afore the fog lifts."

The fog was already thinning.

* * * * *

Meantime, on the easterly coast of the Little Pony, the _Black Eagle_
was being warped in towards shore and moored with lines to a low,
sheer rock, which served admirably as a landing wharf. The gangplank
was run out, the hatches were lifted, the barrows were fetched from
below; and all these significant operations were directed in a
half-whisper by t