and an old boat, turned keel up, lay
in the middle of it.

"I know it!" cried Ned Sinton, laughing in gleeful surprise; "it's my
old boat, isn't it? Well, I can scarcely credit my eyes! I saw it last
on the sea-shore, and now it's a quarter of a mile into the town!"

"More than that, Ned," said Tom Collins, "the plot of ground is worth
ten thousand dollars at this moment. Had it been a little further
south, it would have been worth ten times that sum. And more than that
still, the Irish family you lent the boat to--you remember them--well,
they dug up a bag from under the boat which contained five thousand
dollars; the honest people at once gave it up, and Mr Thompson rewarded
them well; but they did not live to enjoy it long, they're all dead now.
So you see, Ned, you're just 3000 pounds richer than you thought you
were this morning."

"It's a great day!" remarked Larry O'Neil, looking round upon his
comrades, who received all this information with an expression of
doubting surprise; "a great day intirely! Faix, I'm only hopin' we
won't waken up an' find it's all a dhrame!"

Larry's companions quite agreed with him. They did not indeed say so,
but, as they returned home after that stroll, talking eagerly of future
plans and prospects, the ever-recurring sentiment broke from their lips,
in every style of phrase, "It's a great day, intirely!"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

MORE UNEXPECTED DISCOVERIES--CAPTAIN BUNTING MAKES BILL JONES A FIRST
MATE--LARRY O'NEIL MAKES HIMSELF A FIRST MATE--THE PARTING--NED SINTON
PROVES HIMSELF, A SECOND TIME, TO BE A FRIEND IN NEED AND IN DEED.

"It never rains but it pours," saith the proverb. We are fond of
proverbs. We confess to a weakness that way. There is a depth of
meaning in them which courts investigation from the strongest
intellects. Even when they are nonsensical, which is not unfrequently
the case, their nonsense is unfathomable, and, therefore, invested with
all the zest which attaches, metaphysically speaking, to the
incomprehensible.

Astonishing circumstances had been raining for some time past around our
bewildered adventurers, and, latterly, they had begun to pour. On the
afternoon of the day, the events of which have been recorded in the last
chapter, there was, metaphorically speaking, a regular thunder-plump.
No sooner had the party returned to old Mr Thompson's cottage, than
down it came again, heavy as ever.

On entering the porch, Lizette ran u