two I was asleep,--the best and most refreshing sleep I ever
remember. All through the rest of the night I was dimly aware of
the sound of the water about the bows, and the cool breeze on my
face.

When I woke it was broad daylight. The boat had come to a stop,
the mainsail was down, and they were taking in the jib. I heard
the anchor go over with a splash, and then Pete came running aft.

"Hullo! Awake? How are you?"

"All right. Where are we?"

"I don't know. Unknown island."

I sat up and looked over the starboard side of the boat. We were
in a little bay, and there was land about a hundred yards distant,
--a rocky island with pine trees, and two or three small cottages
set amongst the trees. I heard someone talking on the other side
of the boat, and I looked up forward to see Sprague, in a bathing
suit, and Gregory the Gauger. Sprague was entertaining the Gauger
with a poem which he had been reciting at intervals ever since we
met him.

"'She'd git her little banjo an' she'd sing Kulla-lo-lo!'--but not
in Bailey's Harbor,--hey, what? She wouldn't get her little banjo
there, or you'd run her in, wouldn't you, Squire? You and the
Constable!"

"Where did you get that poem?" asked Pete, who was furling the