Anson shuddered. "Aw, who's goin' to peep?' he returned.,
"Why, it belongs to Mr. Scroggie," Hinter answered. "It was brought across from Ohio by schooner. You know what it is, I suppose?",
CHAPTER I LUCY ACTON,
"I won't," promised Anson. "Cross my heart, Bill."
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Like most sailors of his time Mr Lawrence possessed the instinct of superstition, a quality or element which has contributed the most brilliant of the rays to the glory of the[Pg 322] romance of the sea. He was sensible of an emotion of awe as he watched Lucy bowing to and addressing a royal apparition so well known to him as the Sailor Prince whose viewless eye might be upon him, whose invisible ear might be taking in his story whilst the wild-haired girl bowed apparently to the bulkhead or addressed the thin air.,
She looked up at him, tears filming the fire of anger in her eyes.,
When the wound had been dressed, during which Mr Lawrence kept his eyes shut and his teeth set—he was in mortal pain—the Admiral asked him gently if he suffered much. Mr Lawrence opened his eyes and looked at his father, and smiled slightly. Faint as the smile was, mingled as it was with the distortion of anguish, it had in it the charm of a manly beauty which only the decay of the grave could destroy, and in it also were remorse and gratitude. His lips parted in the words, "No, sir," and again his eyes closed.,
"Then let's get out of his way. I suppose he thinks we have no business here and maybe he's right. Where shall we go, Billy?"
Above him bent a face with tender blue eyes and red, half-smiling lips beneath a crowning glory as golden as frost-pinched maple leaf. And she would be at school in the morning! It was while pondering on how he might contrive to wear his Sunday clothes on the morrow that Billy fell asleep to dream that he was old man Scroggie's ghost and that he was sitting in the centre of Lake Erie with the big hardwoods bush on his knees, waiting for her to come that he might present it all to her.
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"Roger Stanhope didn't live long but while he lived he was a right good sort of man to foller an' before he died he had the satisfaction of seein' the place in which he was one of the first to settle grow up into a real neighborhood. Young Frank had growed into a big, strappin' feller by this time an' took hold of the work his father had begun, an' I must say he did marvels in the clearin' an' burnin'.
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With kindly pressure he obliged the old seaman to resume his seat, and then turned with something of fierceness upon old Greyquill.
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"Why, sakes alive!" cried his mother, "I never give Maurice a thought. O' course we'll have him, too. An' if there happens to be anybody else you'd like, you best say so now, Willium."
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>CHAPTER XVIII THE METTLE OF THE BREED
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