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He turned abruptly away to follow the wagons but Billy's voice stopped him. "Pray step in, Mr Greyquill, and be seated!" "Can you explain, Captain Weaver," interrupted Miss Acton, whose irrelevancy was feminine, and whose question was based on her desire to hear something that she could understand, for the talk now as it ran was beyond her—"how it was that Miss Lucy Acton, who is one of the best known ladies who reside in these parts, should pass along the wharves and go on board the Minorca to be made a prisoner of and sailed away with, without anybody seeing her—without anybody being able to say that he saw a young female pass along? Even if he could describe her dress without knowing who she was, we should have been able to conclude that Mr Lawrence[Pg 230] had lured her on board: for we never could have supposed that she would have gone to him without his being guilty of some base stratagem to inveigle her.".

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"He shall wait upon you at the stroke, sir." "You are a sailor, sir, and so am I, and 'tis natural that we should both light upon the same scheme. But there is not the slightest occasion for you to sacrifice a farthing of your property, nor to post to London to-morrow to find a ship, some little schooner or other swift enough to enable you to be at Rio when the Minorca arrives. Such a ship," he said, his face brightening a little[Pg 220] with an expression of triumph, "I possess in the Aurora. She has discharged her lading. She can be ballasted at once, and if a crew can be assembled by this time to-morrow evening, I may be far down Channel in such pursuit as must make the barque's chances of escape hopeless, unless indeed she eludes me in the night, or in thick weather, in which case I shall thrash on and be at Rio a week before she enters the Harbour." Billy grinned. "An' I got a piece of news fer you fellers, too," he returned. "But go on, your news first, Jim." On the top-most branch of a tall, dead pine, close beside the wood-pile, sat the tame crow, Croaker, his head cocked demurely on one side, as he listened to the woman's righteous abuse. Croaker could no more help filling his claws with chips and dirt and wobbling the full length of a line filled with snowy, newly-washed clothes than he could help upsetting the pan of water in the chicken-pen, when he saw the opportunity. He hated anything white with all his sinful little heart and he hated the game rooster in the same way. He was always in trouble with Ma Wilson, always in trouble with the rooster. Only when safe in the highest branch of the pine was he secure, and in a position to talk back to his persecutors..