ot a light twinkled anywhere.

"How comes this, Godby!" says I, pointing to the dim shapes of the
great stern lanthorns above us.

"Cap'n's orders, Mart'n! We've been dark these two nights, and yet if
yon craft is what we think, 'twould seem she follows us by smell, pal,
smell. As how, say you? Says I, last night she was fair to be seen
having closed us during the day, so out go our lights and up goes our
helm and we stand away from her. At dawn she was nowhere and yet--here
she is again--if yon ship be the same."

"Which we shall learn in an hour or so, Godby."

"Aye, Mart'n, if she don't smell us a-coming and bear away from us.
And yet she must be a clean, fast vessel, but we'll overhaul her going
roomer or on a bowline."

"Roomer? Speak plain, Godby, I'm no mariner!"

"Time'll teach ye, pal! Look'ee now, 'roomer' means 'large,' and
'large' means 'free,' and 'free' means wi' a quartering-wind, and that
means going away from the wind or the wind astarn of us; whiles 'on a
bowline' means close-hauled agin the wind, d'ye see?"

"Godby, 'tis hard to believe you that same peddler I fell in with at
the 'Hop-pole.'"

"Why, Mart'n, I'm a cove as adapts himself according. Give me a pack
and I'm all peddler and j'y in it, gi'e me a ship and I'm all mariner
to handle her sweet and kind and lay ye a course wi' any--though guns
is my meat, Mart'n. Fifteen year I followed the sea and a man is apt
to learn a little in such time. So here stand I this day not only
gunner but master's mate beside of as tight a ship, maugre the crew, as
ever sailed--and all along o' that same chance meeting at the
'Hop-pole.'"

"And though a friend of Bym you knew little of Adam Penfeather?"

"Little enough, Mart'n. Joel be no talker--but it do seem Jo was one
of the Coast-Brotherhood once when Cap'n Penfeather saved his life and
that, years agone. So Joel comes home and sets up marriage, free-trade
and what not, when one day lately Master Adam walks into the 'Peck o'
Malt,' and no whit changed for all the years save his white hair. And
here comes rain, Mart'n--"

"And wind!" says I as the stout ship reeled and plunged to the howling
gust.

"No, Mart'n," roared Godby above the piping tumult, "not real wind,
pal--a stiffish breeze--jolly capful."

Slowly the night wore away and therewith the buffeting wind gentled
somewhat; gradually in the east was a pale glimmer that, growing,
showed great, black masses of torn cloud scuddi