The interest which they had felt in these new proceedings had caused the boys to pull up their hooks; but now, at Bruce’s word, they put them in the water once more, and resumed their fishing, only casting sidelong glances at the approaching boat.

In a few minutes the boat was alongside, and the officer leaped on board.  He looked all around, at the fish lying about the deck, at the boys engaged in fishing, at Captain Corbet, at Solomon, at the mysterious flag aloft, and finally at the boys.  These all took no notice of him, but appeared to be intent on their task.

“What schooner is this?” he asked, abruptly.

“The schooner Antelope, Corbet master,” replied the captain.

“Are you the master?”

“I am.”

“Where do you belong?”

“Grand Pre.”

“Grand Pre?

“Yes.”

“Hm,” he replied, with a stare around—­“Grand Pre—­ah—–­hm.”

“Yes, jest so.”

“What’s that?”

“I briefly remarked that it was jest so.”

“What’s the reason you didn’t lie to, when you were hailed?”

“Lay to?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t do it.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked the officer, who was rather ireful, and somewhat insulting in his manner.

“Wal bein as I was anchored here hard an fast, I don’t exactly see how I could manage to go through that thar manoeuvre, unless you’d kindly lend me the loan of your steam ingine to do it on.”

“Look here, old man; you’d better look out.”

“Wal, I dew try to keep a good lookout.  How much’ll you take for the loan o’ that spy-glass o’ yourn?”

“Let me see your papers.”

“Papers?”

“Yes, your papers.”

“Hain’t got none.”

“What’s that?”

“Hain’t got none.”

“You—­haven’t—­any—­papers?”

“Nary paper.”

The officer’s brow grew dark.  He looked around the vessel once more, and then looked frowningly at Captain Corbet, who encountered his glance with a serene smile.

“Look here, old man,” said he; “you can’t come it over me.  Your little game’s up, old fellow.  This schooner’s seized.”

“Seized?  What for?”

“For violation of the law, by fishing within the limits.”

“Limits?  What limits?”

“No foreign vessel can come within three miles of the shore.”

“Foreign vessel?  Do you mean to call me a foreigner?”

“Of course I do.  You’re a Yankee fisherman.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are; and what do you mean by that confounded rag up there?” cried the officer, pointing to the flag of the “B.  O. W. C.”  “If you think you can fish in this style, you’ll find yourself mistaken.  I know too much about this business.”

“Do you?  Well, then, kind sir, allow me to mention that you’ve got somethin to larn yet—­spite o’ your steam injines an spy-glasses.”