Cap’n Sproul turned his back on the dim gleam of open sea framed by distant headlands.

“I’m ashamed to look the Atlantic Ocean in the face, with that bunch of barn-yarders aboard,” he complained.

“Shipped crew,” went on Hiram, who had not paused in his reading.  “Took along my elephant to h’ist dirt.  Found Cod Lead Nubble.  Began h’istin’ dirt.  Dug hole twenty feet deep.  Me and L. Murray made fake treasure-chist cover out of rotten planks.  Planted treasure-chist cover.  Let E. Bodge and G. Ward discover same, and made believe we didn’t know of it.  Sold out E. Bodge and all chances to G. Ward for fifteen thousand and left them to dig, promisin’ to send off packet for them.  Sailed with crew and elephant to cash check before G. Ward can get ashore to stop payment.  Plot complicated, but it worked, and has helped to pass away time.”

“That ain’t no kind of a ship’s log,” objected the Cap’n, who had listened to the reading with an air too sullen for a man who had profited as much by the plot.  “There ain’t no mention of wind nor weather nor compass nor—­”

“You can put ’em all in if you want to,” broke in Hiram.  “I don’t bother with things I don’t know anything about.  What I claim is, here’s a log, brief and to the point, and covers all details of plot.  And I’m proud of it.  That’s because it’s my own plot.”

The Cap’n, propping the wheel with his knee, pulled out his wallet, and again took a long survey of Colonel Ward’s check.  “For myself, I ain’t so proud of it,” he said, despondently.  “It seems sort of like stealin’ money.”

“It’s a good deal like it,” assented Hiram, readily.  “But he stole from you first.”  He took up the old spy-glass and levelled it across the rail.

“That’s all of log to date,” he mumbled in soliloquy.  “Now if I could see—­”

He uttered an exclamation and peered into the tube with anxiety.

“Here!” he cried.  “You take it, Cap’n.  I ain’t used to it, and it wobbles.  But it’s either them or gulls a-flappin’.”

Cap’n Sproul’s brown hands clasped the rope-wound telescope, and he trained its lens with seaman’s steadiness.

“It’s them,” he said, with a chuckle of immense satisfaction.  They’re hoppin’ up and down on the high ridge, and slattin’ their arms in the air.  It ain’t no joy-dance, that ain’t.  I’ve seen Patagonian Injuns a war-dancin’.  It’s like that.  They’ve got that plank cover pried up.  I wisht I could hear what they are sayin’.”

“I can imagine,” returned Hiram, grimly.  “Hold it stiddy, so’s I can look.  Them old arms of Colonel Gid is goin’ some,” he observed, after a pause.  “It will be a wonder if he don’t shake his fists off.”

“There certainly is something cheerful about it—­lookin’ back and knowin’ what they must be sayin’,” observed the Cap’n, losing his temporary gloom.  “I reckon I come by this check honest, after all, considerin’ what he done to me on them timber lands.”