rs full account of the
north sea, whither Captain Gillam was to go for the Fur Company, and
whither, too, Master Ben was keen to sail, "a pirateer, along o' his
own risk and gain," explained the mate with a wink, "pirateer or
privateer, call 'em what you will, Mister; the Susan with white sails
in Boston Town, and Le Bon Garcon with sails black as the devil himself
up in Quebec, ha--ha--and I'll give ye odds on it, Mister, the devil
himself don't catch Master Ben! Why, bless you, gentlemen, who's to
jail 'im here for droppin' Spanish gold in his own hold and poachin'
furs on the king's preserve o' the north sea, when Stocking, the
warden, 'imself owns 'alf the Susan and Cap'en Gillam, 'is father, is
master o' the king's ship?"

"They do say," he babbled on, "now that Radisson, the French
jack-a-boots, hath given the slip to the King's Company, he sails from
Quebec in ship o' his own. If him and Ben and the Capiten meet--oh,
there'll be times! There'll be times!"

And "times" there were sure enough; but of that I had then small care
and shook the loquacious rascal off so that he left me in peace.

First came the servants, trundling cart-loads of cases, which passed
unnoticed; for the town bell had tolled the close of Sabbath, and
Monday shipping had begun.

The cusp of a watery moon faded in the gray dawn streaks of a muffled
sky, and at last came the chairmen, with Jack running alert.

From the chairs stepped the blackamoor, painted as white as paste.
Then a New Amsterdam gentleman slipped out from the curtains, followed
by his page-boy and servants.

"Jack," I asked, "where is Hortense?"

The page glanced from under curls.

"Dear Jack," she whispered, standing high on her heels nigh as tall as
the sailor lad. And poor Jack Battle, not knowing how to play down,
stood blushing, cap in hand, till she laughed a queer little laugh and,
bidding him good-bye, told him to remember that she had the squirrel
stuffed.

To me she said no word. Her hand touched mine quick farewell. The
long lashes lifted.

There was a look on her face.

I ask no greater joy in Paradise than memory of that look.

* * * * * *

One lone, gray star hung over the masthead. The ship careened across
the billows till star and mast-top met.

Jack fetched a deep sigh.

"There be work for sailors in England," he said.

In a flash I thought that I knew what he had meant by fools not loving
in the righ