The hollibubber seemed, for a second, about to speak; for, of course, he
knew Zeb's trouble. But after a while he took his shovel out of the
ground slowly.

"Ay, ye might," he said; "pray the Lord ye don't."

Zeb went on, faster than ever. He passed Bradden Point and Widdy Cove
at the rate of five miles an hour, or thereabouts, then he turned aside
over a stile and crossed a couple of meadows; and after these he was on
the high-road, on the very top of the hill overlooking Troy Harbour.

He gazed down. The frigate was there, as the hollibubber had guessed,
anchored at the harbour's mouth. Two men in a small boat were pulling
from her to the farther shore. A thin haze of blue smoke lay over the
town at his feet, and the noise of mallets in the ship-building yards
came across to him through the clear afternoon. Zeb hardly noticed all
this, for his mind was busy with a problem. He halted by a milestone on
the brow of the hill, to consider.

And then suddenly he sat down on the stone and shivered. The sweat was
still trickling down his face and down his back; but it had turned cold
as ice. A new idea had taken him, an idea of which at first he felt
fairly afraid. He passed a hand over his eyes and looked down again at
the frigate. But he stared at her stupidly, and his mind was busy with
another picture.

It occurred to him that he must go on if he meant to arrange with
Webber, that afternoon. So he got up from the stone and went down the
steep hill towards the ferry, stumbling over the rough stones in the