The boys said nothing, but looked at Tom as though referring the question to him.

“As far as I am concerned,” said Tom, who noticed this reference to him, “it’s a matter of indifference where we go, so long as we go out of sight of this island.  If the rest prefer landing at Scott’s Bay, I’m agreed; at the same time, I’d just as soon go on to Petitcodiac.”

“An what do the rest o’ ye say?” asked the captain, somewhat anxiously.

“For my part,” said Bruce, “I think it’s about the best thing we can do.”

The others all expressed similar sentiments, and Captain Corbet listened to this with evident delight.

“All right,” said he, “and hooray!  Solomon, my aged friend, we will have our breakfast on board, as we glide past them thar historic shores.  Pile on what you have, and make haste.”

In a few minutes more the anchor was up, and the Antelope was under way.

In about half an hour Solomon summoned them below, where he laid before them a breakfast that cast into the shade Tom’s most elaborate meal on the island.  With appetites that seemed to have been growing during the whole period of Tom’s absence, the joyous company sat down to that repast, while Solomon moved around, his eyes glistening, his face shining, his teeth grinning, and his hips moving, as, after his fashion, he whispered little Solomonian pleasantries to his own affectionate heart.  At this repast the boys began a fresh series of questions, and drew from Tom a full, complete, and exhaustive history of his island life, more particularly with regard to his experience in house-building, and housekeeping; and with each one, without exception, it was a matter of sincere regret that it had not been his lot to be Tom’s companion in the boat and on the island.

After breakfast they came up on deck.  The wind had at length changed, as Captain Corbet had prophesied in the morning, and the sky overhead was clear.  Down the bay still might be seen the fog banks, but near at hand all was bright.  Behind them Ile Haute was already at a respectful distance, and Cape Chignecto was near.

“My Christian friends,” said Captain Corbet, solemnly,—­“my Christian friends, an dear boys.  Agin we resoom the thread of our eventfool vyge, that was brok of a suddent in so onparld a manner.  Agin we gullide o’er the foamin biller like a arrer shot from a cross-bow, an culleave the briny main.  We have lived, an we have suffered, but now our sufferins seem to be over.  At last we have a fair wind, with a tide to favor us, an we’ll be off Hillsborough before daybreak to-morrer.  An now I ask you all, young sirs, do you feel any regretses over the eventfool past?  I answer, no.  An wan’t I right?  Didn’t I say that that thar lad would onst more show his shinin face amongst us, right side up, with care, in good order an condition, as when shipped on board the Antelope, Corbet master, from Grand Pre, an bound