The two men ate their supper and both went on deck to smoke their
pipes. Skipper Sam had no more to say about the proposed undertaking
until late in the evening, when he called the mate to his cabin, where
he had retired after his smoke, and there the mate found him poring
over a chart.
"D'ye know anything about this coast?" the skipper asked, without
looking up.
The mate glanced over his shoulder.
"Not much, sir. I was down on a fishin' cruise once when I was a lad."
"Well, how far down ought we t' go, d' ye think, before we lays up?"
"I think, sir, we should go north o' Indian Harbour. Th' farther north
we gets, th' more fur we'll pick up."
"Well," said the skipper, standing up, "I'm goin' t' sail just as
quick as I can fit out. Ship th' crew on th' best terms ye can. We got
t' move smart, fer I wants time t' run well down before th' ice
catches us."
"All right, sir."
Thus it happened that the _Maid of the North_, spick and span, with a
new coat of paint on the outside, and a good stock of provisions and
articles of trade in her hold, sailed out of Halifax Harbour and
turned her prow to the northward on the first day of September, and
was plowing her way to the Labrador at the very time that Bob Gray
with his mother and Emily were returning so disconsolate to Wolf Bight
after hearing the verdict of the mail boat doctor, and Bob was making
the plans that carried him into the interior.
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