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When he returned O'Dule was seated on the edge of the table, his feet on a stool. He was taking a long sup from the demijohn. So much had she told him, and the light had gone from her eyes, the song from her lips. "Oh Hully Gee!" yelled Jim Scroggie, "Wasn't that corkin'—Oh Mommer! An' what did you an' Maurice do with the weasels?".

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"He thinks you're guyin' him," said the other man. "How's he to know what you mean by 'fishin'-outfit?' He likely thinks you mean a rod and reel. Better push along and mind your own business. Next thing you're goin' to say is somethin' about 'shootin' a well,' and if Jacobs gets to hear of that kinder talk—" "That's Croaker," laughed Erie. "Billy won't be far behind him. I had better go out and explain things, Frank." Wilson's exclamation of surprise was checked by Cobin Keeler, whose long arm reached out and encircled him. He was lifted bodily into the seat and the buckboard dashed on up the road, the clatter of its loose spokes drowning the loud voices of its occupants. Down sank a boat from the davits with a lieutenant in the stern sheets, and six sailors to pull her, and in a dozen strokes of the blades feathering in fire to the sunlight and dropping jewels of brilliant dyes ere they were buried for the next foaming impulse, the boat was alongside the schooner. The lieutenant mounted the short length of steps which had been flung over through the open gangway and saluted the little ship as all sea-gentlemen do, or should, when they step aboard a vessel, even though she should be as mean as an Irish hooker..