hen he got up from his squatting form, with the
usual activity of those who are supposed to have none left, and touched
his brown hat, standing cleverly. "What be I to do for all this?" he
asked.

"Nothing more than what I have told you. To find out slowly, and without
saying why, in the way you sailors know how to do, whether such a thing
came to pass, as I suppose. You must not be stopped by the lies of
anybody. Of course they will deny it, if they got some of the wrecking;
or it is just possible that no one even heard of it; and yet there may
be some traces. Put two and two together, my good friend, as you have
the very best chance of doing; and soon you may put two to that in your
pocket, and twenty, and a hundred, and as much as you can hold."

"When shall I see your good honor again, to score log-run, and come to a
reckoning?"

"Master Joseph, work a wary course. Your rating for life will depend
upon that. You may come to this address, if you have anything important.
Otherwise you shall soon hear of me again. Good-by."

CHAPTER XVIII

GOYLE BAY

While all the world was at cross-purposes thus--Mr. Jellicorse uneasy at
some rumors he had heard; Captain Carroway splitting his poor heel with
indignation at the craftiness of free-traders; Farmer Anerley vexed at
being put upon by people, without any daughter to console him, or catch
shrimps; Master Mordacks pursuing a noble game, strictly above-board, as
usual; Robin Lyth troubled in his largest principles of revolt against
revenue by a nasty little pain that kept going to his heart, with an
emptiness there, as for another heart; and last, and perhaps of all
most important, the rector perpetually pining for his game of chess, and
utterly discontented with the frigid embraces of analysis--where was the
best, and most simple, and least selfish of the whole lot, Mary Anerley?

Mary was in as good a place as even she was worthy of. A place not by
any means so snug and favored by nature as Anerley Farm, but pretty
well sheltered by large trees of a strong and hardy order. And the
comfortable ways of good old folk, who needed no labor to live by spread
a happy leisure and a gentle ease upon everything under their roof-tree.
Here was no necessity for getting up until the sun encouraged it; and
the time for going to bed depended upon the time of sleepiness. Old
Johnny Popplewell, as everybody called him, without any protest on his
part, had made a good pocket by