"What vessel is that?" asked Mrs. Taylor, as a cloud of white canvas emerged from behind Negro Island.
"It's a yacht!" exclaimed Bobtail. "There's a P in her burgee. It's the Penobscot, of Belfast. She belongs to Colonel Montague. I saw her go down the other day. She's the finest yacht in these waters. I must go and see her."
Little Bobtail suddenly forgot all about the mortgage and the prospective loss of the cottage as he gazed upon the white sails and the beautiful hull of the Penobscot. She was a magnificent yacht, of about a hundred tons. She had created a decided sensation in the bay, and our young skipper had heard glowing accounts of her, which made him anxious to see her with his own eyes. Her crew were hauling down her gaff-topsails and her jib-topsail, and it was evident that she intended to anchor in the harbor. Her foresail was lowered, and then her jib. As she lost her headway, the anchor went overboard near where the Skylark lay. Bobtail began to move off.
"I should like to see her, too, Robert. Can't you take me out to her?" said Mrs. Taylor.
"Certainly, mother; come along," replied Little Bobtail; "but perhaps they won't let us go on board of her, for I see some ladies on her deck."
At the landing-steps they took a boat, and Bobtail pulled off to the yacht.