dent upon Bobby curled up behind a
wind-shelter on the other side of the deck, contributing some large salt
tears to the brine of the ocean. Now, in that circle of society in which
it had pleased Providence to place Percival it was considered the height
of bad form to exhibit an emotion. His imagination could not picture one
of the ladies of Hascombe Hall sitting in a public place with her hair
tumbled over her face, and her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Nevertheless, the sight of this hitherto buoyant young creature in
distress moved him to sit down beside her, and in the softly modulated
tones upon which we have already commented coax her to tell him what was
the matter.

Unlike the historic Miss Muffet who repulsed a similar attention from
the spider, she welcomed his arrival. She even asked him if he had an
extra handkerchief, her own having been reduced to a wet little ball.
He had. He not only proffered it, but helped to wipe away the tears.

[Illustration: "I don't know what makes me so everlastingly silly!"
she said fiercely trying to swallow the rising sobs, "but he won't
understand!"]

"I don't know what makes me so everlastingly silly," she said fiercely,
trying to swallow the rising sobs, "but he _won't_ understand!"

"Who won't?"

"The captain. I don't care if he is my father. Sometimes I don't like
him a bit."

Neither did Percival. It was strange how the common antagonism drew
them together. He was about to ask for further details when the old
Peppermint Lady scurried past and, seeing them, turned back to impart
the burning news that Bird Island was in sight.

"Yes," said Percival, shamelessly, "we have seen it."

"He doesn't know me if he thinks I'll give in," went on Bobby where she
had left off. "I am just as stubborn as he is."

"There, now, I shouldn't talk about it if it made me cry," advised
Percival, patting her shoulder.

"But I've got to talk to somebody," she said almost savagely. "What did
he give me to the Fords for if he didn't think they were good enough?
Pa Joe's as good as he is any day in the week."

"Who is Pa Joe?" asked Percival, groping in the dark.

"He's the darlingest old man in the world, and he owns the best cattle
ranch in Wyoming. Anybody'll tell you so. He's been a real father to me,
and the boys are real brothers--at least three of them are. They are
just as good as anybody that ever lived, I don't care what the captain
says."

There was another passionate