“Henry,” said Harvey, “there’s some sunlight left yet, and just enough breeze to dry the sails nicely before we leave. The sooner they are dried the less likely they are to mildew. Shall we run them up?”
“Yes, let’s be quick about it,” replied Henry Burns. “The fire’s ready for the biscuit.”
They seized the halyards, one the throat and the other the peak, and began hauling. The sail went up smartly—when, all at once, there was an ominous, ripping sound.
“Hold on!” cried Harvey, “something is caught.”
“Well, I should say there was!” exclaimed Henry Burns, when he had made his halyard fast, and started to examine. “Cracky! but there are two big tears in the sail.”
“I don’t see how that can be,” said Harvey, joining him. “It’s a stout, new mainsail.”
“Why, I see what did the mischief,” he exclaimed, the next moment. “The reefing-points are caught in two places. That’s funny. We shook all the reefs out the last time we brought her in.”
“Look and see if it’s funny,” said Henry Burns, quietly. “I suppose somebody thought it was funny. Those knots didn’t tie themselves.”
Harvey examined them, while his face reddened with anger.
“I’ll bet I could guess who did that!” he cried.