In a moment or two he had untied his boat from the little quay, and was pulling down towards Troy Town.
When he returned, it was with a huge board, a pot of tar, and a brush.

He looked anxiously about the beach, but Mr.Fogo was nowhere to be seen.

"Drownded hissel'," was Caleb's first thought, but his ear caught the sound of hammering up at the house.

He walked indoors to see that all was right.
"How be feelin' ?" he asked, putting his head in at the dining-room door.
Mr.Fogo laid down the mallet with which he had been nailing a loose plank in the flooring, and looked up.
"All right, Caleb, thank you." "I was afear'd you might be none compass agen." "What ?" "None compass--Greek for 'mazed.' Good-bye for the present, sir." Caleb borrowed a hammer, a nail or two, and a spade, and descended again to the beach.

Here he chose a spot carefully, and began to dig a large hole in the shingle.