had saved--a few pennies it
was--and had bought something for him. A life-preserver! A neighbor of
hers had gotten it from an engineer on an English steamer! And she
produced the huge vest of padded cork, which folded up so easily along
the seams! The Rector looked at the strange mechanism and smiled. Did
you ever! What things people could think of! "I'd heard there were rigs
like that in the world, but I never saw one before. Glad to have it
aboard, though I can swim like a fish, myself, and never do it in
uniform!" And he was tickled to death, at bottom. He left his soup and
tried the life-belt on, laughing at his own stoggy appearance in it; for
it made his already generous allowance of paunch still more conspicuous,
and he ended by looking and puffing like a seal--for the straps made it
hard for him to breathe. "Thanks, thanks! I'll not drown in this. I'll
simply strangle. But the _Mayflower_ will like to have it!" And he
dropped it to the floor. When Pascualet, tugging and straining, finally
got the thing on, his head and feet barely extended beyond the cork
armor. He was a tortoise in a shell, for all the world!

The meal was almost over, when Tonet came in, with a huge bandage around
his hand. He had just had a bad blow, that morning; and he reported the
news in such a way, that his brother did not see fit to ask how nor why;
nor was the Rector sharp enough to note the self-conscious expression on
the face of Dolores. Up to his usual tricks, that boy! Probably been in
another fight in some drinking-place! "But what do you expect you'll be
good for outside? All trussed up like that! Never mind this trip. We
won't be out more than a day or two, if we have any kind of luck. We'll
take you day after to-morrow, or next day!" The Rector talked on very
calmly. That temper of his was hard to ruffle! But Tonet and Dolores sat
looking at the floor, as though they were ashamed of something.

At four o'clock, the final preparations for the sailing of the fleet
began. The _bou_-boats, two by two, were moored to the harbor wharfs,
dipping their masts on the swell as though curtseying to the people
ashore, while their hulls went up and down in graceful undulation. Those
tiny sea-dogs, with their rough profiles of ancient galleys, made one
think of the old armadas of Aragon, or of the fleets of doughty pinnaces
with which Roger de Lauria used to spread terror along the coasts of
Sicily. And the fishermen, too, as they came down