“Wear he home night afore last?”
“He wear—about midnight; an’ he says he wear walkin’ alone by the sea-shore, arter he left her. I believe him!”
The old man made the assertion as if he wished to hear no opposition; and for a few moments they floated on through the silent night. All three men were gloomy and thoughtful, for Paul Gramley was a favorite with all who claimed his acquaintance.
“Pull on your right oar, Abe.” The command came in a low tone from Seth Skellet’s lips. “We air too nigh the flats for the best o’ the eels. Steady—that’ll do. Youngster, drop over the anchor.”
The child in the bow moved again, and taking a large stone from the bottom of the boat, dropped it over the side. It fell with a splash into the black waters; the cumbrous craft rocked to and fro, swayed here and there, then swung in toward Goose Point, and finally came to rest.
“Youngster, light the torch.”
The child searched in his pocket till he found matches, and taking a pitch-pine brand from beside him, applied the fire. The wood spluttered and crackled and burst into a flame.
“Here, change seats with me.”
Mutely the child did as he was bidden, and took his place upon the seat which the oarsman had occupied.
“Now, hold the light out over the water—and hold it still.”