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With wildly beating heart Billy passed through the pines, the twilight gloom adding to his feeling of awe. Croaker had become strangely silent and now flitted before him like a black spirit of a crow. It was almost a relief when at last the tumble-down shack grew up in its tangle of vines and weeds. Once more into the daylight and Croaker took up the interrupted thread of his conversation with himself. He ducked and side-stepped and gave voice to expressions which Billy had never heard him use before.,

"Hey? Oh, all right, all right. Stanhope's a fine youngster, but poor, poor.",

It was hard upon twelve o'clock when Captain Acton and his friend reached the wharves. Though there was plenty of shipping about to suggest occupation there was little apparently doing. Here and there a song was monotonously sung by sailors or labourers who were leisurely taking in or discharging cargo. Had the Minorca sailed at her appointed hour the little Harbour would no doubt have looked gay with colours flying on the ships and plenty of gossips to see the vessels off on the wharf.,

"But I couldn't get no promise out o' Ringdo. He says you're workin' 'gainst us."

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She was within a couple of miles when she shaped herself out of the rain-thickened murkiness. The Aurora was making a free wind, and every stitch of canvas was doing its work. Was yonder stranger French or English? The Admiral and Captain Acton, who were both on deck, left Captain Weaver to his own devices, sensible that they were in the hands of a shrewd, well-seasoned, practical sailor, who knew his ship better than they did. "We'll test her," said he, and the tricolour was run aloft. No flag aboard the brig was to be seen in response. The schooner was crossing the stranger's bows when the brig suddenly let fly a shotted gun at her. Whatever her nationality it was plain she was not satisfied with the show of bunting flying aboard a vessel that any practised eye could at once see was not of French paternity.,

"Ay, that must be," exclaimed the Admiral, "even though Heaven should rain French men-of-war.",

"I don't believe myself," said Miss Acton, "that trousers ever will come in. Men whose calves are of a good shape and who have long been in the habit of admiring and cherishing them, will be very reluctant to conceal them in those ridiculous unmanly garments called trousers.",

"You seem to have managed the stringin' all right," said the father, examining the wooden ducks on the work bench. "A little too much white on the bluebills, I'd say."