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"Then s'posin' we try an' find out something 'bout 'em fer ourselves, eh?",

"But think of what it means to him," urged Billy. "Besides, Harry, I've got a charm that'll keep ol' Scroggie's ghost away," he added, eagerly.,

"I aim to call her Lou," he said hesitatingly. "That is if you don't mind.",

"I remember that, too. Well?"

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Mr Lawrence well judged that if Greyquill locked him up for debt Old Harbour Town would rise against him. His windows would certainly be broken, his person might go in danger, for there was more than one who had suffered at the hands of Greyquill who would be grateful for any sort of excuse to administer a sound cudgelling to the old man, and take his chance of the law, fortified by the conviction that if it came to a fine the amount would be subscribed several times over.,

"Frank told Mr. Reddick, the preacher who came to bury old Scroggie, all that had passed between him an' the dead man but although they hunted high an' low fer the will, they never found it. Nor did they find any of the money the ol' miser must have left behind—not a solitary cent. That was over a year ago, an' they haven't found money or will yet. But this goes to show what a real feller Frank Stanhope is. He put a fine grave stone up for ol' Scroggie an' had his name engraved on it. Yes he done that, an' all he ever got from the dead man was his curses.,

"I knowed it," whispered the man, softly. "I knowed the old songs would come back ag'in. Billy must have had somethin' to do with it; I'll bet a cookie he had!" He opened the door gently and entered. He placed the ducks on the table and softly withdrew again.,

On this Captain Acton and his friend went on deck. The schooner was travelling three or four knots one way, and the stranger was heading directly for her at some small pace, so that the speed of the two vessels being combined, the sail might be expected to show a clear hull; which she did, and with the aid of their telescopes, Captain Acton and Sir William confirmed the conjecture of Captain Weaver. She was either a little brig or a brigantine—her after-sails were concealed; her burden was very small. The dusty and rusty complexion of her canvas neutralised the brilliance which most ships' sails shine with when the silver glory of the morning sun pours strong upon them. By half-past nine, three bells by the schooner's clock, the stranger was on the larboard-bow with her main topsail to the mast, and so close that it seemed almost possible to distinguish the faces of her people.