"To think of forgetting him!" exclaimed Pete, "can you see anything of him, Warren?"
Sprague had run up forward, and was peering ahead as we entered the inlet.
"Here he comes!" he cried, "by Jingo, here he comes! Well, what do you think of that? Isn't he a brick, Pete?"
I tried to see what all this was about. The moon was bright on the water, and at last I could make out some white thing, like a sea gull, moving toward us. We were running before the wind and soon were near enough to get a good view. It was a bird of some kind. We were in no doubt about the kind when it raised itself upon the water, flapped its wings and uttered a loud "Quack! qu-a-a-a-ck!"
"It's a duck!" said Ed Mason.
"Of course it's a duck," replied Pete, "we got him at Duck Island, too. It's Simon. Can you reach him, Warren?"
"I think so," answered Sprague, "easy now!"
Pete brought the yacht carefully alongside the duck, Sprague twined one foot around the bob-stay, reached over and lifted the bird into the boat. As soon as it was set on deck the duck shook its feathers, gave one defiant waggle of the tail, and paddled aft, remarking: "Quack! quack! qua-a-a-ck!"
"Well! Simon, old man!" said the delighted Pete, "did you think we had left you behind? You didn't think that of us, did you? But you had started out to overtake us, hadn't you? That shows what a good old sport you are. The Chief might have left you in the lurch, but your Uncle Warren and I wouldn't."
Simon waddled about a little, and finally settled down in the center of a coil of rope. Once more we turned and started again on our flight from Bailey's Harbor.