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Her eyes reposed thoughtfully upon the hull of the ship, mounting presently in a stealing way to the heights, and her colour seemed to deepen slightly to the impulse of a romantic mood or fancy.,

CHAPTER IV THE MESSAGE CROAKER BROUGHT,

Certainly what he wrote about did not refer to the letter he had received on his arrival at "The Swan." This may be assumed, as he never referred to that letter which lay in his pocket. He wrote leisurely and with absorption, never heeding the noise next door, and when he was done he carefully read through what he had written, and with his handsome face stern with the quality of resolution and the temper which enters into great or violent undertakings as their impulse or seminal principle, he pocketed the letter, and left the room by another door.,

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.

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Caleb turned quickly towards a pile of goods, behind which an audible titter had sounded.,

"Good lads!" cried Cobin heartily, "Ma, hear that? They found ol' Junefly. Wasn't that smart of 'em, an' in all that rain, too.",

The breeze blew bright and warm, and sang sweetly aloft. The brilliant horizon ahead slided up and down past the prismatic edges of the clear and shapely sails which yearned in steady breasts from mast-head to jibboom and bowsprit ends; the parted water rolled past in wool-white lines of yeast; the heavens were alive with the clouds of the air. Nothing was in sight but Nelson's Fleet, fading.,

Billy waited for no more. He was up and away like a shot. Mrs. Wilson, clutching her gold piece in one hand and brushing back her deranged hair with the other, went back into the house.