"
"So do I," agreed White; "though I expect I should like any name
belonging to her, for she is a dear girl. One reason I am so fond of
this schooner is because it is named for her."
"How is that?"
"Why, it is the 'Sea Bee,' and these are her initials."
It was early on the second morning after leaving St. Pierre that the
"Sea Bee" drifted slowly into the harbour of Port aux Basques, where
the yacht-like steamer "Bruce" lay beside its single wharf. She had
just completed her six-hour run across Cabot Strait, from North Sidney,
eighty-five miles away, and close at hand stood the narrow-gauge train
that was to carry her passengers and mails to St. Johns. It would
occupy twenty-eight hours in making the run of 550 miles from coast to
coast, and our lad looked forward to the trip with pleasant
anticipations.
But he was again doomed to disappointment; for while the schooner was
still at some distance from the wharf, the train was seen to be in
motion. In vain did Cabot shout and wave his cap. No attention was
paid to his signals, and a minute later the train had disappeared.
There would not be another for two days, and the young engineer gazed
about him with dismay. Port aux Basques appeared to be only a railway
terminus, offering no accommodation for travellers, and presenting,
with its desolate surroundings, a scene of cheerless inhospitality.
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