most too fine!" he remarked. "I don't like that crimson east. You
remember how the rhyme goes:

"A red sky in the morning,
Sailors take warning.

Looks to me like a weather-breeder. Those swells remind me of a lazy,
good-natured, purring tiger. You wouldn't think they'd swamp a toy
boat; but let the wind blow over 'em a few hours and it's an entirely
different matter. Still, I don't think we'll see any really bad weather
before midnight at the earliest. Guess we'd better plan not to set
to-morrow."

He was soon unhooking hake and coiling the trawl into its tub. Percy
kept the _Barracouta_ close by. At the middle buoy he relieved Spurling
in the dory. The set yielded over two thousand pounds of fish,
principally good-sized hake.

"Very fair morning's work," said Spurling. "We'll leave that last load
in the dory. Now for home!"

Soon the sloop was heading for Tarpaulin, the weighted dory towing
behind. They were almost up to Brimstone Point when, with a final
explosion, the engine stopped. Spurling gave an exclamation of mingled
disgust and relief.

"Something's broken! Well, we're lucky it didn't give way five miles
back. It'd have been a tough job to warp her in so far, with a white-ash
breeze. Cast off that dory, Perce!"

As Percy pulled the smaller craft alongside the distant quick-fire of an
approaching engine fell upon his ears. He glanced quickly toward the
northeast.

"No blisters for us this morning!" he shouted. "Here comes Captain Ben
in the _Calista!_ He'll tow us in."

Presently the lobster-smack was alongside, and soon the _Calista_, with
sloop and dory in tow, was heading for Sprowl's Cove. Jim and Percy had
left their boat and come on board the smack. They noticed that Higgins
seemed unusually serious.

"What's the matter, Cap?" inquired Spurling. "Any trouble with
lobsters?"

"No," replied the captain, soberly, "there's no trouble with lobsters,
so far as I know. Haven't met with any losses to speak of, and I'm
paying twenty-five cents a pound. But something's happened to a friend
of yours. Remember that stranger who made you a call a couple of weeks
ago?"

"Sure! What about him?"

"Well, coming across from Swan's Island yesterday afternoon, I nearly
ran over a boat, bottom up, close to Griffin Ledge. I managed to spell
out the name on her stem; it was the old _Helen_. Thorpe had made his
sheet fast once too often, as I've always said he would. So he's gone,
dog, cats, and the