“What are sea-wolves?” asked Fernao.

“Like no beast that ever you saw, my son.  They have the fore part of the body like a dog or bear, the hind part ending in a tail like a fish, but with hair, not scales, on the body; the head has a thick mane, and the jaws are large and strong.  They are no more seen on that island, for they went there only because it was never visited by men.”

“Did they try to drive the people away?”

“No; they do not fight men unless men attack them.  But the settlers were once driven off Puerto Santo by animals, and not very fierce animals at that.”  The old pilot grinned.  “They were driven away by rabbits.  Somebody brought rabbits there and let them loose, and in a few years there were so many that everything that was planted was eaten green.  The people who live on that island now have made a strict rule about rabbits.”

The children’s laughter echoed the dry chuckle of the old man.  Then Fernao, unwilling to abandon his authorities,—­

“But if the Sea of Darkness and the great abyss are not in the western ocean, why haven’t they found out what really is there?”

“That, my son, is more than I can tell you,” said Sancho Serrao, getting up.  “I sailed where I was told, and I never was told to sail due west from Lisbon.  But here is a man who can answer your question, if any one can.  Welcome to my humble dwelling, Senhor Colombo!  Shall we go into the house, or will you find it pleasanter in the garden?”

The new-comer was a tall man of middle age, although at first sight he looked older, because of his white hair.  The fresh complexion, alert walk, and keen thoughtful blue eyes were those of a man not old in either mind or body.  He smiled in answer to the greeting, and replied with a quick wave of the hand.  “Do not disturb yourself, I beg of you, my friend.  The garden is very pleasant.  I have come on an errand of my own this time.  Did you ever see, in your voyages to Africa or elsewhere, any such carving as this?”

He held out a curious worm-eaten bit of reddish brown wood, rudely ornamented with carved figures in relief.  Old Sancho took it and turned it about, examining it with narrowed attentive eyes.

“Where did it come from?” he asked, finally.

“From the beach at Puerto Santo.  My little son Diego picked it up, the day before I came away from the island.”

“Now that is curious.  I was just telling the young ones about an adventure of my youth, when Gonsales Zarco touched there on his way to Madeira.  With your good permission I will leave you for a few minutes and rummage in an old sea-chest, and see whether there is any flotsam in it to compare with this.”

Left alone with the stranger, Fernao and Beatriz looked at him with shy curiosity.  They had seen him before, and knew him to be a mapmaker in the King’s service, but he had never before been within speaking distance.  He seemed to like children, for he smiled at them very kindly and spoke to them almost at once.