y man and
rescuing his victim....

Despite the thrilling experiences of a day so unaccustomedly feminine,
the sturdy old fisherman, when he was done with his meditations, slept
soundly throughout the night. He was up at cock-crow--though there was
no clarion call from Shrimp to awaken.

It was while he was busy over the preparation of a modest breakfast that
there came the wailing cry of a yacht's siren. It sounded from the
northward, evidently not far away from the Island. Captain Icky shut the
drafts on the stove, pushed the coffee-pot back to a position where it
would keep hot without boiling. Then he stepped outside the shack to
watch the incoming vessel pass over the bar into the waters of the
Inlet. He was impressed at first glance by the beautiful lines of the
little vessel, which was evidently of light draft so she might cruise
safely in shallow waters, while capable of weathering a storm-tossed
sea.

It was a new thing that a yacht of such size should come to anchor off
the Island. Ichabod watched curiously as the vessel slackened heavily
and then let a light anchor drop from the starboard side of the bow.
Presently, he saw a small boat put off from the yacht, rowed by two
sailors, and carrying two passengers in the stern. When he made sure
that a landing was intended, Ichabod went down to the point to greet the
unexpected visitors.

As the boat touched the landing, the two men stepped ashore and advanced
toward Ichabod, who greeted them hospitably.

"Howdy, men! Ye are welcome to Ichabod's Island. But it's a leetle
unusual to have a call from boats o' your class.... Jones is my
name--Captain Ichabod Jones, at your service!"

The shorter man stepped forward, and introduced himself as Jack Scott.
He presented his companion as his friend, Roy Morton.

"Captain Jones," the stranger began, "we are now, I take it, just at the
entrance to the Beaufort Inlet."

"Yes, yender is the Inlet," Ichabod replied.

The other spoke with curt incisiveness.

"We're in a hurry. We'd like to ask you a few questions. It's plain no
craft of any size could pass your Island without attracting notice.
We're looking for a yacht stolen from her anchorage in the North River.
She has now been missing for several days. The last report we've been
able to get is that she was seen passing out of Pamlico into Core Sound.
Do you know the whereabouts of any such boat? Her name was _The
Isabel_."

"_The Isabel!_" Ichabod answered. "T