The next hour and a half was anything but fun for young Whittington. His mind was set on reaching Camp Spurling before the hands of the alarm-clock came together at midnight. At any cost he must be in his bunk before the others woke.

It was a long, hard row, a battle every second with the tide running against him with untiring strength. It demanded every ounce of energy Percy possessed. His back complained dully. His arms felt as if they would drop off. Time and again he decided that the next stroke must be his last, that he must lie down in the bottom of the boat and rest; but each time he tapped some hitherto unknown reservoir of power within himself, and kept on pulling.

With the stern demand on his physical forces a change was being wrought in his brain. His foolish pride, his false sense of shame at changing his hasty plan to desert, his bitter feeling toward the others, gradually disappeared. Every oar-stroke brought him not only nearer the island, but also nearer a sane, wholesome view of life itself.

His thoughts turned naturally to the group at the camp, this clean, independent, self-respecting crowd, who cared no more for his money than for the pebbles on the beach; who estimated a fellow, not by what he had, but by what he was. After all, that was the real test; Percy could not help acknowledging it.

Saddleback glimmered astern. The whistle south of Roaring Bull was growing fainter. Percy felt encouraged. He turned his head. Yes, Tarpaulin was certainly nearer. Disheartening though the pull was, he had gained perceptibly. But the southwest breeze had stiffened, adding its opposition to that of the tide.

It was now past eleven. He had decided that he must reach the cabin not later than quarter to twelve. Barely half an hour longer! His hands were blistered, his breath came in sobs, but he dragged fiercely at the oars. At last he was stemming the strong tide-rip off Brimstone Point.

The next ten minutes were worse than all that had gone before. As he surged unevenly backward and forward, the current swung the pea-pod’s bow first one way, then the other. Deaf and blind to everything but the work in hand, Percy swayed to and fro. Foot by foot the boat crept round the fringing surf at the base of the bluffs.

Hands seemed to be plucking at her keel, holding her back. It was no use. They were too strong for him. All at once their grasp weakened. He glanced up with swimming eyes. He had passed the eddy, and the entrance of the cove was near. A few strokes more and the pea-pod grounded on the beach. It was twenty minutes to twelve!

Percy staggered up to the cabin. All was dark and quiet. Gently lifting the latch, he slipped inside, pulled the door to again, and stood listening. The regular breathing of his sleeping mates reassured him. Compelling himself to walk noiselessly to his bunk, he crept under his blanket without even taking off his shoes.

He had been gone three hours; and they had been the most momentous hours of his life.

Kling-ng-ng-ng-ng ...

Off went the clock. It was midnight. Muttering drowsily, Filippo slid out of his bunk, checked the alarm, and lighted a lamp. Then he busied himself with his cooking-utensils.

The last thing Percy heard was a spoon clinking against a pan. Dead tired, he turned his face to the wall and fell asleep.

It was eight in the morning before he woke. What had made his arms and back so lame and raised those big blisters on his hands? Percy remembered. He lay for a few minutes, his eyes shut. An unpleasant duty was before him, and he must be sure to do it right.

Aching in every joint, he rolled out at last and stood up stiffly. Filippo, who was washing the breakfast dishes, turned at the sound. His face was neither hostile nor friendly.

“Your breakfast in oven,” said he. “Sit down and I get it.”

He set before Percy a plate of smothered cod and a half-dozen hot biscuits. It was more thoughtfulness than Percy had expected.

“Much obliged, Filippo,” he said, gratefully.

Filippo made no reply to this acknowledgment; but, as Percy ate, he could feel the young Italian watching him curiously. It was the first time Whittington had ever thanked him, and he did not understand it.

After he had finished eating, Percy took his plate, knife, and fork to the sink.

“Let me wash these, Filippo,” he said.

“No,” returned the Italian, “I do it.”

But a look of surprise crossed his face. What had come over the millionaire’s son?

Percy spent the rest of the forenoon on the ledges. At noon he came back to the cabin. He had steeled himself for the task before him, and he was not the fellow to do things half-way. The John P. Whittington in him was coming out.

Everybody else was in camp when he stepped inside. Lane did not look at him at all. Spurling and Stevens nodded coolly. Percy drew a long breath and launched at once into the brief speech he had spent the last three hours dreading.

“Fellows,” he stammered, “I’ve been pretty rotten to all of you. There’s no need of wasting any more words about that. Last night I took one of the boats and started to row up to Isle au Haut. But I got to thinking matters over out there on the water, and it changed my mind about a lot of things. So I came back. Jim, I want to apologize to you for what I said last night. I deserved what you gave me, and it’s done me good. I want to stay here with you for the rest of the summer if you’re willing. I’ll try to do my full share of the work. You can send me off the first time I shirk.”

He ceased and awaited the verdict, looking eagerly from one to the other. There was a moment of silence. Surprise was written large on the faces of the three Academy men. Then Spurling stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Percy,” said he, with a break in his voice, “I’ve always thought you had the right stuff in you, if you’d only give yourself half a chance. For one, I’ll be more than pleased to have you stop. What do you say, boys?”

He glanced toward Lane and Stevens.

“Sure!” exclaimed Lane, heartily; and Stevens seconded him.

The boys shook hands all round; and they sat down to the table with good appetites. Everybody enjoyed the meal.

“Boys,” said Jim as they got up at its close, “this is the best dinner we’ve had since we came out here.”

Percy’s heart warmed toward the speaker. He knew that it was not the food alone that made Jim say what he did.

It had been Percy’s habit to smoke three or four cigarettes during the half-hour of rest all were accustomed to take after the noon meal. He went, as usual, to his suit-case, and this time took out, not merely one package, but all he had, including his sack of loose tobacco and two books of wrappers.

“Got a good fire, Filippo?” he inquired, approaching the stove.

A burst of flame answered him as he lifted the cover. In went the whole handful. He watched it burn for a moment before dropping the lid.

“I’m done with you for good,” he said.

As Lane and Spurling started for the Barracouta to dress the fifteen hundred pounds of hake they had taken off the trawls that morning Percy joined them, clad in oilskins.

“Jim,” he petitioned, “I want you to teach me how to split fish.”

“Do you mean it, Percy?” asked Spurling.

“You heard what I said this noon about shirking. I’m through with dodging any kind of work just because it’s unpleasant. I want to take my part with the rest of you.”

“I’ll teach you,” said Jim.

He did, and found that he had an apt pupil. Percy worked until the last pound of the fifteen hundred was salted down in the hogshead. He discovered that it was not half so bad as it had looked, and felt ashamed that he had not tried his hand at the trick before.

“You’ve earned your supper to-night,” observed Jim.

“Yes; but I’m glad it’s something besides fish.”

“You’ll get so you won’t mind it after a while.”

That night Throppy played his violin and the boys sang. They passed a pleasant hour before going to bed.

“I’d like to go out with you to the trawls, Jim, to-morrow morning,” said Percy.

“Glad to have you,” responded Spurling, heartily.

Two hours before light they were gliding out of the cove in the Barracouta, bound for Medrick Shoal, four miles to the eastward.

“Percy,” said Jim as the sloop rolled rhythmically on the long Atlantic swells, “I want to tell you something. I was awake the other night when you left camp. I watched you row north and come back; and I saw the hard fight you had round Brimstone. I’m glad you made a clean breast of the whole thing, even when you thought nobody knew anything about it. It showed me you intended to turn over a new leaf and play fair. You’ll find that we’ll meet you half-way, and more.”

Percy was silent for a moment.

“Glad I didn’t know you heard me go out,” he remarked. “If I had I might not have had the courage to come back. Well, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on I’ll try not to give you fellows any reason to find fault with me.”

Medrick Shoal yielded a good harvest. About eighteen hundred pounds of hake lay in the pens on the Barracouta when they started for home at ten o’clock. As they took the last of their gear aboard, a schooner with auxiliary power, apparently a fisherman, approached from the eastward.

“The Cassie J.,” read Spurling, deciphering the letters on the bow. “Somehow she looks natural, but I don’t remember ever hearing that name before. Probably from Gloucester. Wonder what she wants of us.”

The vessel slowed down and changed her course until she was running straight toward the Barracouta. One of her crew stood in the bow, near the starboard anchor; another held the wheel; but nobody else was visible.

“Where are you from, boys?” hailed the lookout, when the stranger was only a few yards off.

“Tarpaulin Island,” answered Spurling.

The man put his hand behind his ear.

“Say that again louder, will you?” he shouted. “I’m a little deaf.”

Jim raised his voice.

“I said we were from Tarpaulin Island.”

The lookout passed the word back to the helms-man. The latter repeated it, evidently for the benefit of somebody in the cabin. Then the man at the wheel took up the conversation, prompted by the low voice of an unseen speaker below.

“How many fish have you got there?”

“Eighteen hundred of hake.”

“What’s that?”

Was everybody aboard hard of hearing? Jim raised his voice.

“Eighteen hundred of hake!”

“What’ll you take for ’em just as they are? We’ll give you fifty cents a hundred.”

“Can’t trade with you for any such figure as that.”

“Good-by, then!”

The tip of the Cassie J.’s bowsprit was less than two yards from the port bow of the Barracouta, altogether too near for comfort.

“Keep off!” roared Spurling. “You’ll run us down!”

The steersman whirled his wheel swiftly in the apparent endeavor to avert a collision. Unluckily, he whirled it the wrong way. Round swung the schooner’s bow, directly toward the sloop. A few seconds more and she would be forced down beneath the larger vessel’s cutwater, ridden under.

Only Jim’s coolness prevented the catastrophe. The instant he saw the Cassie J. turn toward his boat he flung his helm to port. The sloop, under good headway, responded more quickly than the schooner. For a moment the bowsprit of the latter seesawed threateningly along the jibstay of the smaller craft. Then the two drew apart.

Jim was white with anger. It was only by the greatest good fortune that the Barracouta had escaped.

“What do you mean, you lubber?” he cried. “Can’t you steer?”

“Jingo! but that was a close shave!” responded the man at the wheel. “I must have lost my head for a minute.”

The mock concern in his face and voice would have been evident to Spurling without the lurking grin that accompanied his reply. An angry answer was on the tip of Jim’s tongue. He choked it down. Soon the two craft were some distance apart.

On the Cassie J. a man’s head rose stealthily above the slide of the companionway. He fastened a steady gaze on the sloop. The distance was now too great for the boys to distinguish his features, but a sudden idea struck Jim. He slapped his thigh.

“Percy!” he exclaimed. “Do you remember the two fellows we caught stealing sheep the first night we were on Tarpaulin? I feel sure as ever I was of anything in my life that they’re both on board that schooner. That’s Captain Bart Brittler, sticking his head out of the companionway; and Dolph’s somewhere below.”

“But what are they doing on the Cassie J.? Their vessel was named the Silicon.”

“They’re one and the same craft! I’m certain of it. I recognize her rig now, even if it was night when I saw her the first time. As for the name, it’s only paint-deep, anyway; you can see that those letters look fresh. Of course it’s an offense against the law to make a change, but such a little thing as breaking a law wouldn’t trouble a man like Brittler.”

“Do you think they tried to run us down?”

“Not a doubt of it! Brittler and Dolph stayed below, afraid we might recognize ’em. They didn’t see our faces that night, so they don’t know how we look; but they tried to make me talk enough so that they might recognize my voice. Guess that lookout’s not so deaf as he pretended to be! Once Brittler felt sure who it was, he gave orders to the wheelman to run over us. He’d have done it, too, if I hadn’t seen the schooner’s bow start swinging the wrong way.”

The Cassie J. slowly outdistanced the sloop. By the time the stranger was a quarter-mile off six or seven men had appeared on her deck.

“Feel it’s safe for ’em to come up now,” commented Spurling. “Wonder what they’re cruising along the coast for, anyway! Something easier and more crooked than fishing, I guess! Here’s hoping they steer clear of Tarpaulin!”

At dinner that noon the boys related their narrow escape to the others, and all agreed it would be well to keep a sharp lookout for Brittler and his gang.

“They’ve got a grudge against us, fast enough,” said Lane. “They intend to even matters up if they can find the chance.”

That afternoon Percy again wielded the splitting-knife.

“You’ll soon get the knack of it,” approved Jim. “Don’t pitch in too hard at first. Later on, after you grow used to it, you can work twice as fast, and it won’t tire you half so much.”

In dressing a fifteen-pound hake Percy came upon a mass of feathers in the stomach. He was about to throw them aside, when a silvery glint caught his eye.

“What’s that?” he exclaimed.

Rinsing the mass in a pail of water, he picked from it the foot of a bird; round its slender ankle was a little band of German silver or aluminum, bearing the inscription, “U43719.” He held it up for the others to inspect.

“That’s the foot of a carrier-pigeon!” said Throppy. “I know a fellow at home who makes a specialty of raising ’em. The bird that owned this foot was taking a message to somebody. Perhaps he was shot; or he may have become tired, lost his way, and fallen into the water, and the hake got him.”

They looked at the little foot with the white-metal band.

“My uncle Tom was fishing once in eighty fathoms off Monhegan,” Spurling remarked, “and pulled up an odd-patterned, blue cup of old English ware. The hook caught in a ‘blister,’ a brown, soft, toadstool thing, that had grown over the cup. He’s got it on his parlor mantel now.”

“I’ll keep this foot as a souvenir,” said Percy.

They finished the hake shortly after four. Percy shed his oil-clothes, went into the camp, and reappeared with his sweater. Going down to the ledges, he pulled off a big armful of rockweed. This he stuffed into the sweater, and tied it together, making a close bundle. The others watched him curiously.

“What are you going to do with that?” inquired Lane.

Percy smiled, but there was a glitter of determination in his eyes.

“I’ll tell you some time,” was all the reply he vouchsafed.

Taking the bundle, now somewhat larger than a football, he climbed the steep path at the end of the bank, and started for the woods.

“I’ll be home before supper,” he flung back as he disappeared beyond the crest of the bluff.

In less than an hour he was back, bringing the sweater minus the rockweed. His face was flushed, and streaked with lines where the perspiration had run down it, and he was breathing hard. Evidently he had been through some sort of strenuous physical exercise.

“It’s all right, boys,” he said, in response to their chaffing. “Just a little secret between me and myself. No, I’m not trying to reduce the size of my head. Later on you’ll know all about it.”

And with that they had to be content.