“Are we all to go ashore in the dinghy?” I asked.

The Captain turned on me severely, and I observed that he and Mr. Rogers had armed themselves with a musket apiece, each slung on a bandolier, and that Mr. Rogers wore an axe at his belt.

“Certainly not,” said the Captain.  “Mr. Rogers and I are going on shore to prospect, and I was at this moment instructing Mr. Goodfellow that nobody is to leave the ship without leave from me.”

“But—­” I began, and checked myself, less for fear of his anger than because I was actually on the verge of tears.  I looked around for the ladies, but they had retired to their cabin.  Oh, this was hard—­a monstrous tyranny!  And so I told Mr. Goodfellow hotly as the dinghy pushed off and, Mr. Rogers paddling her, drew away up the creek and rounded the bend under the almost overhanging trees.

“When are they coming back?” I demanded.

“Captain didn’t say.”

“You seem to take it easily,” I flamed up; “but I call it a burning shame!  Captain Branscome seems to think that this Island belongs to him; and you know well enough, if it hadn’t been for me, he’d never have set eyes on it.  What are you going to do?”

“Smoke a pipe,” said Mr. Goodfellow, “and watch the beauties o’ Nature.”

“Well, I’m not,” I threatened.  “Captain Branscome may be a very good seaman but he’s too much of an usher out of school.  This isn’t Stimcoe’s.”

“Not a bit like it,” assented Mr. Goodfellow, feeling in his pockets.

“And if he thinks he can go on playing the usher over me, he’ll find out his mistake.  Why, look you, whose is the treasure, properly speaking?  Who found it?”

“Nobody, yet.”

Mr. Goodfellow drew forth a pipe and rubbed the bowl thoughtfully against his nose.

“Well, then, who found the chart?  Who put you all on the scent?  Who was it first heard the secret from Captain Coffin?  And this man doesn’t even consult me—­doesn’t think me worth a civil word!  I’ll be shot if I stand it!” I wound up, pacing the deck in my rage.

Just then Plinny’s voice called up to us from the cabin, announcing that dinner was ready.

“But,” said she, “one of you must eat his portion on deck while he keeps watch; that was Captain Branscome’s order.”

“More orders!” I grumbled; and then, with a sudden thought, I nodded to Mr. Goodfellow, who was replacing his pipe in his pocket. “You go.  Hand me up a plate and a fistful of ship biscuit, and leave me to deal with ’em.  I’m not for stifling down there under hatches, whatever your taste may be.”

“’Tis a fact,” he admitted, “that a meal does me more good when I square my elbows to it.”

“Down you go, then,” said I; “and when you’re wanted I’ll call you.”

He descended cheerfully, reappeared to pass up a plate, and descended again.  I gobbled down enough to stay my appetite, crammed my pocket full of ship biscuit, and, after listening for a moment at the hatchway, tiptoed forward and climbed out upon the bowsprit.  Then, having unloosed the cockboat’s painter, I lowered and let myself drop into her, and, slipping a paddle into the stern-notch, sculled gently for shore.