grub," and, opening the door
of the grocery store, he went inside. In a few minutes he reappeared.
"Capt'n," said he, in a voice which he intended to be an aside, "are you
goin' to count 'em as mealers, or as if they was visitin' the family?"

Captain Jabe laughed. "Well, Abner," said he, "I guess we will count
them as mealers, though I don't intend to make no charge."

Abner nodded, and again entered the little house.

"What are mealers?" I asked of the captain.

"In this part of the country," he answered, "there's a good many city
folks comes for the summer, and they take houses; but they don't want
the trouble of cookin', so they make a contract with some one livin'
near to give them their meals regular, and this sort of folks goes by
the general name of mealers. What Abner wanted to know fur was about
openin' the cans. You see, most of our victuals is in cans, and if Abner
knowed you was regular payin' mealers he would open fresh ones; but if
you was visitin' the family, he'd make you help eat up what was left in
the cans, just as we do ourselves."

It was not long before the thrifty Abner had given us a substantial
breakfast; and then Walkirk and I were glad to take possession of a
spare couple of bunks, for we were tired and sleepy, and the monotonous
fog still hung around us.

It was about noon when I waked and went on deck, where I found Walkirk,
Captain Jabe, and Abner engaged in consultation. There was a breeze
blowing, and every particle of fog had disappeared.

"We've been considerin'," said the captain, addressing me, "what's the
best thing to do with yer boat; there's no use tryin' to tinker her up,
for she has got a bad hole in her, and it is our fault, too. One of the
iron bands on our rudder got broke and sprung out a good while ago, and
it must have been the sharp end of that which punched into yer boat when
we drifted down on her. We ain't got no tackle suitable to h'ist her on
board, and as to towin' her--a big boat like that, full of water,--'t
ain't possible. We've lost a lot of time already, and now there's a good
wind and we are bound to make the best of it; so me and Abner thinks the
best thing ye can do is to sink yer boat right here on the bar where we
are now anchored, having struck it all right, as ye see, and mark the
spot with an oil-cag. Anybody that knows this bay can come and git her
if she is on Simpson's Bar, buoyed with an oil-cag."

I was sorry that we should not be able to