“Hatteras!” interrupted the deacon, groaning—­“What in natur’ had my vessel to do down there?”

“I am sure I don’t know, sir—­but I had better read you the contents of Roswell’s letter, and then you will hear the whole story.”

Mary now proceeded to read aloud.  Gardiner gave a frank, explicit account of all that had happened since he parted with his owner, concealing nothing, and not attempting even to extenuate his fault.  Of the Sea Lion of Holmes’ Hole he wrote at large, giving it as his opinion that Captain Daggett really possessed some clue—­what he did not know—­to the existence of the sealing islands, though he rather thought that he was not very accurately informed of their precise position.  As respected the key, Roswell was silent, for it did not at all occur to him that Daggett knew anything of that part of his own mission.  In consequence of this opinion, not the least suspicion of the motive of the Vineyard-man, in sticking by him, presented itself to Gardiner’s mind; and nothing on the subject was communicated in the letter.  On the contrary, our young master was quite eloquent in expressing his gratitude to Daggett and his crew, for the assistance they had volunteered, and without which he could not have been ready to go to sea again in less than a week.  As it was, the letter was partly written as the schooner re-passed the bar, and was sent ashore by the pilot to be mailed.  This fact was stated in full, in a postscript.

“Volunteered!” groaned the deacon, aloud.  “As if a man ever volunteers to work without his pay!”

“Roswell tells us that Captain Daggett did, uncle,” answered Mary, “and that it is understood between them he is to make no charge for his going into Beaufort, or for anything he did while there.  Vessels often help each other in this kind way, I should hope, for the sake of Christian charity, sir.”

“Not without salvage, not without salvage!  Charity is a good thing, and it is our duty to exercise it on all occasions; but salvage comes into charity all the same as into any other interest.  This schooner will ruin me, I fear, and leave me in my old age to be supported by the town!”

“That can hardly happen, uncle, since you owe nothing for her, and have your farms, and all your other property unencumbered.  It is not easy to see how the schooner can ruin you.”

“Yes, I am undone”—­returned the deacon, beating the floor with his foot, in nervous agitation—­“as much undone as ever Roswell Gar’ner’s father was, and he might have been the richest man between Oyster Pond and Riverhead, had he kept out of the way of speculation.  I remember him much better off than I am myself, and he died but little more than a beggar.  Yes, yes; I see how it is; this schooner has undone me!”

“But Roswell sends an account of all that he has paid, and draws a bill on you for its payment.  The entire amount is but one hundred and sixteen dollars and seventy-two cents.”