"There!" cried the captain, when he saw it. "That solves our
shelter problem for us. We'll make a tent. Oh, we're in luck, all
right. 'Bob's Island' isn't such a bad place after all."

Bob blushed with pleasure. Then and there he made up his mind that
his foolishness should be a thing of the past. He was of some
importance in the world now, and it would not do to be playing
childish pranks.

But if the captain was delighted at finding the sail, he was much
more so when, on opening the lockers, which fastened with patent
catches, everything was found to be as "dry as a bone," as Tim
Flynn expressed it.

"Now we can have a change from the fish and fruit diet," said the
captain, as he showed where the canned food had been stowed away.
There were tins of ship's biscuits, some jars of jam and marmalade,
plenty of canned beef, tongue and other meats, rice, flour--in
short, a bountiful supply for the small party of castaways.

Captain Spark had ordered the boats to be well provisioned when he
knew the _Eagle_ was doomed, and his forethought now stood them in
good stead.

In another locker was a kit of carpenter's tools, which would come
in very handy if they were to remain long on the island, and in
another water-tight compartment the captain had stowed his
chronometer, his instruments for finding the position of the ship,
and some charts.

Owing to the fact that the lockers remained tightly closed when the
boat capsized, nothing had been lost out of them, and they had also
served to make the gig more buoyant. Practically nothing was
missing from the boat save the personal belongings of Bob and the
others--their clothing in the valises, the mast which had floated
away, and some of the captain's papers relating to the ship. But
this did not worry them, as they were now in good shape to live on
the island, at least for several weeks.

"All hands to lighten ship!" called the captain, when he had looked
over what the boat contained. They made short work of carrying the
things from the lockers well up on the beach. With the boat thus
made lighter, it was pulled out of reach of the waves.

"Now for a shelter!" the commander called, when the gig had been
safely moored. "This sail will make a fine tent."

So it proved when it was set up on some poles which Tim Flynn cut
with a light hatchet found among the tools. Mr. Tarbill could not
be depended on to do anything, and he was so mournful, standing
around and l