the dickens of a scrap with something in the nets, fellows,” he panted. “They’ve got three boats out there and the men are stabbing and hitting with boat hooks and things, and the water’s shooting up all around in regular geysers. I’ll bet it’s the shark.”

He turned and rushed away again, and with a chorus of excited yells every boy within earshot streamed after him up the beach. The scoutmaster was away in the motor boat for supplies, but Bruce Cartwright, hearing the commotion, snatched up a pair of field glasses and followed the crowd.

The nets were set off shore about half a mile above the scout camp, and it was plain that something unusual was happening there. By the time the boys had reached the rough little dock opposite there were no “geysers” spouting, or other signs of strenuous activity. But the three fishing boats were clustered in a bunch, their occupants bending over the sides busy attaching tackle to something in the water which was invisible even through the glass. Presently the engines started, the boats separated, and headed for the dock.

The foremost chugged slowly and behind it streaked the distinct wake of a heavy tow. On tiptoe with excitement the boys watched eagerly as it drew nearer and nearer. When at length a great blue-gray shape could be made out, they set up a shout and poured a volley of shrill questions at the man in the stern.

“It’s a shark, all right,” answered that individual shortly. “I ain’t seen one of ’em around these parts for years. He got caught in the net and pretty near tore it to bits, drat him!”

He spoke with considerable heat and the other two men were scowling. But to the scouts mere damage to nets was as nothing compared with the thrill of seeing the great creature close at hand. They hovered around as close as Mr. Cartwright would let them, and when the shark was finally hoisted to the dock they were allowed to examine it to their hearts’ content, take measurements, make photographs or do anything else they chose.

The length of the creature from snout to tip of tail was a little over fifteen feet, and the mouth, though small and undershot, was powerful with its double row of razor-like teeth. Even lying there still and motionless, the body covered with a score of wounds from boat hooks and an old sword fish spear one of the men had fortunately had aboard, it was an evil looking specimen. As Steve Haddon thought of their experience of the day before he could hardly suppress a shudder.

“No, they ain’t native to these parts, praise be!” said the fisherman to whom Cartwright was talking. “If they was we’d about have to go out of business. They breed in the south, but once in a while one strays up this way. I dunno why. Hungry, mebbe; or it might be jest accident. Well, fellers, what say we get them nets in an’ start repairin’ damages? We got a good two days’ work ahead of us, hang the brute!”

Naturally the capture of the shark affected the swimming situation at camp. Mr. Wendell did not at once remove his restrictions, but when a day or so passed with no signs of any more about, he relaxed the new rules a little. The scouts were allowed to go in at the old place provided they did not venture out too far. Two guards were also appointed who rowed back and forth about a hundred yards from shore, keeping a constant lookout for danger.

Cavanaugh enjoyed these swimming periods extremely, for though he made no complaint, he found restriction to the camp limits very dull. He had quite recovered his spirits and also a good deal of that old good natured, easy air of leadership. With Haddon, however, there was a marked difference. He still joked and chaffed the big, slow-speaking chap, but the chaff was all good-natured now, with a subtle touch of affection in it. Instead of Steve’s making advances, it was Cavvy who sought the other out, who moved his seat at table, who found a place beside his friend in the wide circle around the evening camp-fire.

There was nothing forced or obtrusive in his actions. He simply sought Haddon’s companionship in the direct, matter-of-fact manner he went after anything he wanted, and yet he was not selfish in his seeking. That, perhaps, was the most marked feature of the moral change which was taking place within him. In the old days if he liked a fellow he was apt to monopolize him regardless of the other’s feelings in the matter. Now, though Steve would have been perfectly content to spend all his time within the camp limits with Cavvy, the latter refused to allow it.

“No reason why you should stay cooped up here just because I have to,” he said one afternoon in his quick, decisive manner. “You’ve spent three days hanging around doing nothing; it’s time you had a change. If you hustle you can get off with that bunch fishing.”

“But I don’t give a hang about fishing,” protested Haddon.

Cavvy grinned. “Well, get a canoe, then, and find someone to take a little exploring expedition with you,” he suggested. “I’m going to write letters and don’t want to be bothered.”

Steve laughed, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He saw through his friend perfectly, for Cavanaugh never wrote letters if he could help it. But after all perhaps it would be better for them to separate for the afternoon. One can have too much of almost everything, and Haddon had no wish to endanger the association which meant so much to him.

He secured his canoe—it was the last one to be had; but when it came to finding a companion, all the fellows he particularly liked had departed on other expeditions, so he decided to go alone. He was an expert paddler and enjoyed it thoroughly. He also liked poking about in new places, and when he rounded the point and pushed out into the Sound, he turned unhesitatingly westward.

Long Point thrust out its blunt nose from a stretch of rather wild, deserted beach on the south shore of the Cape. Amongst the sand dunes to the eastward were a few fishermen’s huts. Several miles in the other direction lay the village of Shelbourne, and beyond it, along both sides of a wide estuary, sprawled the raw, staring buildings, the many dry docks and numberless other appurtenances of the big, new Government ship building plant. But between the village and the camp the shoreline cut abruptly inland for upwards of a mile, forming a wide, deep harbor which did much toward isolating the camp site from the rest of the world.

Across the mouth of this harbor and reaching well out into the Sound itself, there lay a multitude of small islands, some mere jutting rocks to which a few scraggly pines clung tenaciously, others larger and thickly wooded. All of them were steep and rocky, and between them the tide rushed ceaselessly in queer, erratic, frequently dangerous currents. It was a fine place for fish of many sorts, but little more could be said for it, though on one or two of the larger islands duck shooters had put up rough huts which they used in the late fall and early spring when the season was on.

Steve had never happened to visit these islands. He had, in fact, seen no more of them than was visible from Shelbourne the day they made an inspection of the shipyard over a week ago. And as he headed the canoe toward the nearest one, he looked forward with increasing eagerness to an afternoon of exploration. They looked interesting, and as he drew nearer he got attractive glimpses of little coves and miniature harbors, of wooded points, rocky slopes masked with green, of turbulent, rushing channels, and a dozen other features which thrilled him, and made him regret his wasted opportunities.

The reality quite equalled his