“I don’t know what this is, if ’tisn’t regular trawling,” said Harvey sulkily.  “My fingers are all cut to frazzles.”

“Pshaw!  This is just one o’ Dad’s blame experirnents.  He don’t trawl ’less there’s mighty good reason fer it.  Dad knows.  Thet’s why he’s baitin’ ez he is.  We’ll hev her saggin’ full when we take her up er we won’t see a fin.”

Penn and Uncle Salters cleaned up as Disko had ordained, but the boys profited little.  No sooner were the tubs furnished than Tom Platt and Long Jack, who had been exploring the inside of a dory with a lantern, snatched them away, loaded up the tubs and some small, painted trawl-buoys, and hove the boat overboard into what Harvey regarded as an exceedingly rough sea.  “They’ll be drowned.  Why, the dory’s loaded like a freight-car,” he cried.

“We’ll be back,” said Long Jack, “an’ in case you’ll not be lookin’ for us, we’ll lay into you both if the trawl’s snarled.”

The dory surged up on the crest of a wave, and just when it seemed impossible that she could avoid smashing against the schooner’s side, slid over the ridge, and was swallowed up in the damp dusk.

“Take ahold here, an’ keep ringin’ steady,” said Dan, passing Harvey the lanyard of a bell that hung just behind the windlass.

Harvey rang lustily, for he felt two lives depended on him.  But Disko in the cabin, scrawling in the log-book, did not look like a murderer, and when he went to supper he even smiled dryly at the anxious Harvey.

“This ain’t no weather,” said Dan.  “Why, you an’ me could set thet trawl!  They’ve only gone out jest far ’nough so’s not to foul our cable.  They don’t need no bell reelly.”

“Clang! clang! clang!” Harvey kept it up, varied with occasional rub-a-dubs, for another half-hour.  There was a bellow and a bump alongside.  Manuel and Dan raced to the hooks of the dory-tackle; Long Jack and Tom Platt arrived on deck together, it seemed, one half the North Atlantic at their backs, and the dory followed them in the air, landing with a clatter.

“Nary snarl,” said Tom Platt as he dripped.  “Danny, you’ll do yet.”

“The pleasure av your comp’ny to the banquit,” said Long Jack, squelching the water from his boots as he capered like an elephant and stuck an oil-skinned arm into Harvey’s face.  “We do be condescending to honour the second half wid our presence.”  And off they all four rolled to supper, where Harvey stuffed himself to the brim on fish-chowder and fried pies, and fell fast asleep just as Manuel produced from a locker a lovely two-foot model of the Lucy Holmes, his first boat, and was going to show Harvey the ropes.  Harvey never even twiddled his fingers as Penn pushed him into his bunk.

“It must be a sad thing—­a very sad thing,” said Penn, watching the boy’s face, “for his mother and his father, who think he is dead.  To lose a child—­to lose a man-child!”

“Git out o’ this, Penn,” said Dan.  “Go aft and finish your game with Uncle Salters.  Tell Dad I’ll stand Harve’s watch ef he don’t keer.  He’s played aout.”