ive in a camp. Where is it?"

Jim pointed to the first structure.

"There! It's the cabin of an old vessel that came ashore here in a
southerly gale years ago. Uncle Tom jacked it up a foot, put in a good
floor, and made it into a first-rate camp. It's got bunks for half a
dozen, and at a pinch could hold more. The roof's a bit leaky, but we'll
soon fix that. There's a good stove, and always plenty of driftwood on
the beach. It's a mighty snug place on a stormy day."

Percy turned up his nose at this list of good points.

"What's that pile of chicken-coops near it?"

"Lobster-traps."

"And that big box with its top just above water?"

"A lobster-car. All that we catch in the traps we put in there until the
smack comes."

The mooring-buoy was now alongside. Making the _Barracouta_ fast, the
boys went ashore in the dory and pea-pod. Percy became conscious that he
was thirsty.

"Where can I get a drink?"

"There's the spring at the foot of that bank."

Opening a trap-door in a rude wooden cover, Percy looked down into a
shallow well. The only cup at hand was an empty tin can. Rather
disdainfully he dipped it full and tasted, then spat with a wry face.

"It's brackish!" he called out, indignantly. "I can't drink that."

Spurling and the others were hard at work unloading the boats. Percy
repeated his complaint:

"I can't drink that stuff."

Jim was staggering up the beach, a heavy box of groceries in his arms.

"Sorry!" he replied, indifferently. "That's what all the rest of us'll
have to drink. It isn't Poland water, but I've tasted worse."

Percy slammed down the cover and tossed away the can in a huff. Lane
was passing boxes and bundles ashore from the dory to Stevens and
Filippo.

"Catch hold here, Whittington, and help tote some of this stuff up to
the cabin," exhorted Budge.

Percy complied ungraciously; but he was careful not to tackle anything
very heavy.

"I didn't come out here to make a pack-mule of myself," was his mental
remark.

Jim unfastened the rusty padlock on the cabin door and stepped inside.
Percy followed him, eager to get a glimpse of his new home.

The camp had not been opened for some weeks; it smelled close and
stuffy. As Percy crossed its threshold his nostrils were greeted by a
mingled odor of salt, tarred rope, and decaying wood, flavored with a
faint suggestion of fish. Mastering his repugnance, he looked about.

He saw a single, low room, nine by fifteen, dimly li