"That's so. I wont be gone a great while."
He was, however, whatever may have been his errand. Old Peter was not the man to be at any loss for one, even at that time of night, and his present business kept him away from the shore a full hour. When at last he returned he found his boat safe enough, and so, apparently were all the others; but he looked around in vain for any signs of his late companion. Not that he spent much time or took any great pains in looking, for he muttered to himself:
"Gone, has he? Well then, a good riddance to bad rubbidge. I aint no angel, but he's a long ways wuss than I am."
Whether or not old Peter was right in his estimate of himself or of Burgin, in a few moments more he was all alone in his cat-boat, and was sculling it rapidly up the crooked inlet.
His search had been indeed a careless one, for he had but glanced over the gunwale of the "Swallow." A second look would have shown him the form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply and heavily sleeping at the bottom of the boat. It was every bit as comfortable a bed as he had been used to, and there he was still lying, long after the sun looked in upon him, next morning.
But other eyes were to look in upon Burgin's face before he awakened from that untimely and imprudent nap.
It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a "talk," and Ham made an opportunity for one by saying:
"Come on, Dab; let's go down and have a look at the 'Swallow.'"
Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters; but Dabney's first words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.
"You ought to have told me," he said. "I'd have had him tied up in a minute."