As soon as he was safely on board Mr. Ware made tempting offers to the captain to turn about and attempt to find the yacht. But his efforts were unsuccessful. The schooner was far out of her course and must make the best time possible to her English port, and no offer could tempt the captain to turn back. Moreover, as he pointed out, it would do little good to return if the yacht was lost; whereas if she were safe, she would make her way back to New York and would be waiting for Mr. Ware on his return.
So he was forced to curb his impatience for three long weeks while the schooner floundered her way across the ocean, and two weeks more before he reached his home. By that time winter had set in and it would be madness to attempt to approach the frozen Labrador coast at that time, even if he had hoped to find any of his party alive.
But he laid his plans for an early start in the spring, and the moment he could do so with reasonable safety he secured a staunch little steamer and started on his search. They had arrived near the entrance of the little bay the night before, but it grew dark before they rounded the point where they could make observations. Shortly after this the man in the lookout reported what he believed to be a light up among the rocks on shore. It was so faint that it could barely be made out through the glasses; and presently it disappeared.
This discovery kept Mr. Ware awake all night; and as soon as it was near daylight, he had come off in a life-boat to investigate, leaving the steamer to follow cautiously by daylight. Imagine his delight, then, at finding the snug little hut, with Martin and Larry safe inside.
When Mr. Ware had finished his recital Martin told him in detail the experiences that he and Larry had had during the winter; of their start for home, the blizzard, his encounter with the moose, and their final return to the coast and the comfortable time spent in the little hut.
“And you got here just in the nick of time, Mr. Ware,” he commented. “In another week we should have been footing it cross-country for home; and no knowing where we should have landed.”
While they had been talking the little steamer had come into the bay and dropped anchor half a mile off shore ready to receive her passengers. The captain, anxious to be away from the dangerous locality as quickly as possible, kept signalling repeatedly with short blasts of the whistle, and at last Mr. Ware decided that it was time for all hands to be off. But the snug little hut, tucked away up under the rock among the spruces, appealed strongly to his fancy; and Martin and Larry actually seemed reluctant to leave it now that their long-looked-for chance to do so had come. They had spent many happy hours in their tight little room, and it seemed like treachery to an old friend to turn their backs upon it forever. The old hunter said nothing of his thoughts on this score, however, and set about gathering together the articles he was to take away. But Larry, with a lump rising in his throat, found it difficult to repress his feelings.
“I wish it could go with us,” he said, stopping in his work to take a wistful look at the many familiar objects they were leaving. “It will be pretty lonesome for the little house standing up here all alone year after year and never seeing any of us again.” And the boy leaned over his work again to hide his emotions.
“We’re not going to desert it for good, Larry,” said Mr. Ware, patting the boy on the head kindly. “This is the best little shooting lodge I know of. So every year we will come up here for a hunt, and Martin will take us to the best hunting places, and keep us out of mischief generally, as he always does. What do you say, Martin?”
But the old hunter shook his head.