"How do you know that he will come back there?" I asked.
"I don't," said Jimmy, "but it's the most likely thing to happen, isn't it?"
"The most likely thing doesn't seem to happen on this trip," remarked Ed Mason, who was feeding Simon, the duck, with cracker crumbs.
Sprague broke in on our conversation.
"This charming little island," said he, pointing over his shoulder, toward the land, "is not an island, at all, it seems. It is a cape, or promontory, or perhaps more properly a peninsula. Its name, so the Squire tells us, is Briggs's Nose. Probably the man who gave it that name perished long ago,—slain, no doubt, by the residents. At any rate, it is so far from the nearest town on the mainland that we believe it will be safe to land the Squire there. He can take the steamer this afternoon and get home before dusk. All who wish to kiss the Squire good-bye should therefore get ready. The line forms on the left."
Gregory the Gauger was disposed to grumble at being set ashore.
"Fear not, Squire," said Sprague, "crowns for convoy shall be put into your purse. Many a ship's crew would have marooned you on a desert island, or set you adrift."
"With some ship's bread and a beaker of water," added Mr. Daddles.
"Quite so," said Sprague, "only we couldn't find a beaker on board,—and wouldn't have known one if we HAD found it."
Pete and the silent Chief prepared to row Gregory ashore. Just before they left Sprague gave the prisoner some money for steamboat fare, and Mr. Daddles presented him with the remains of the apple pie, begging him to keep some of it for breakfast next day.