“To hold this,” holding up the anchor. “John made it, and for this boat, while you were there.”
The canoes now began to run in. Charlie made sail, and soon left them all astern, tugging away at their oars against wind and ebb tide. He had been at home a long time,—indeed, it was after supper,—when Henry and Sam came into the cove.
“Charlie,” said Henry, “I shall never pull a canoe any more. I must have that boat, for I am going to fish a good deal this fall. What will you take for her?”
“I don’t want to sell her. I haven’t hardly been in her myself.”
“Well, there’s time enough to talk about that.”
“Come to the house, and get some supper. You won’t go from here to-night.”
After supper, Henry repeated his request for the boat, adding, “You don’t want her, Charlie. You only built her to see what you could do, and can build another. You are no fisherman; but I want her to catch fish in to sell to Isaac.”
“Yes, I do want her,” replied Charlie. “If I want to go anywhere, I must go by boat; for we are on an island, six miles from the main, and if I sell this boat, I must go in a canoe. I don’t like to pull a canoe any better than you do.”
“But it’s different with you. You can go to the main on pleasant days, and, if you are obliged to go in rough weather, you can take the Perseverance; while I go out fishing in the morning, when perhaps it is as pleasant as can be; before night it comes on to blow, and I’ve got to pull in, or go to sea. You know old Uncle Jackson was blown off, last winter, and never heard from; whereas, in that boat, with reefed sails, I could beat in any time. It might be a matter of life and death with me. Come, Charlie, let me have her—that’s a good fellow! You can build another. I’ll give you a dollar a foot for her.”