ush, the weary boy would sigh out,--"Santo Antonio!--Santo
Antonio!" Sullen Sparicio himself at last burst into vociferations of
ill-humor:--"Santo Antonio?--Ah! santissimu e santu diavulu! ...
Sacramentu paescite vegnu un asidente!--malidittu lu Signuri!" All
through the morning they walked and pushed, trudged and sighed and
swore; and the minutes dragged by more wearily than the shuffling of
their feet. "Managgia Cristo co tutta a croce!" ... "Santissimu e
santu diavulu!" ...

But as they reached at last the first of the broad bright lakes, the
heat lifted, the breeze leaped up, the loose sail flapped and filled;
and, bending graciously as a skater, the old San Marco began to shoot
in a straight line over the blue flood. Then, while the boy sat at the
tiller, Sparicio lighted his tiny charcoal furnace below, and prepared
a simple meal,--delicious yellow macaroni, flavored with goats' cheese;
some fried fish, that smelled appetizingly; and rich black coffee, of
Oriental fragrance and thickness. Julien ate a little, and lay down to
sleep again. This time his rest was undisturbed by the mosquitoes; and
when he woke, in the cooling evening, he felt almost refreshed. The
San Marco was flying into Barataria Bay. Already the lantern in the
lighthouse tower had begun to glow like a little moon; and right on the
rim of the sea, a vast and vermilion sun seemed to rest his chin. Gray
pelicans came flapping around the mast;--sea-birds sped hurtling by,
their white bosoms rose-flushed by the western glow ... Again
Sparicio's little furnace was at work,--more fish, more macaroni, more
black coffee; also a square-shouldered bottle of gin made its
appearance. Julien ate less sparingly at this second meal; and smoked
a long time on deck with Sparicio, who suddenly became very
good-humored, and chatted volubly in bad Spanish, and in much worse
English. Then while the boy took a few hours' sleep, the Doctor helped
delightedly in maneuvering the little vessel. He had been a good
yachtsman in other years; and Sparicio declared he would make a good
fisherman. By midnight the San Marco began to run with a long,
swinging gait;--she had reached deep water. Julien slept soundly; the
steady rocking of the sloop seemed to soothe his nerves.

--"After all," he thought to himself, as he rose from his little bunk
next morning,--"something like this is just what I needed." ... The
pleasant scent of hot coffee greeted him;--Carmelo was h