The crew stared.
"Who's crazy?" the cook roared. "Look at that! What d'ye make o' that?"
"It looks," the skipper admitted, "like salvation!"
Old man Feather had indeed "seen that it wouldn't happen again." He had provided for castaways on the Cocked Hat. There was a tight little hut in the lee of the Bishop's Nose; within, there were provisions and blankets and fire-wood and candles. Moreover, in the sprawling, misspelled welcome, tacked to the wall, there was even the heartening information that "seegars is in the kityun tabl." The passengers and crew of the Fish Killer were soon warm and satisfied. They spent a happy night—a night so changed, so cozy, so bountiful, that they blessed old man Feather until their tongues were tired. And old man Feather, himself, who kept watch on the Cocked Hat with a spy-glass, took them off to Hulk's Harbour in the clear weather of the next day.
"An' did you find the cigars, skipper?" he whispered, with a wide, proud grin.
"Us did."
"An' was they good? Hist! now," the old fellow repeated, with a wink of mystery, "wasn't they good?"
"Well," the skipper drawled, not ungraciously, you may be sure, "the cook made bad weather of it. But he double-reefed hisself an' lived through. 'Twas the finest an' the first cigar he ever seed."
The old man chuckled delightedly.