tor, and
appeared in waistcoat and trousers which gave him the appearance of a
growing boy dressed in his father's cast-off apparel.

Such was the guise of the shipwrecked men as they sat hiding as much of
themselves as possible under the Pilot's table, whilst Rose Summerhayes
bustled about the room. She took glasses from the sideboard and a
decanter from a dumb-waiter which stood against the wall, and placed
them on the table.

"And Rosebud, my gal," said the Pilot, "as it's quite two hours to
dinner, we'll have a morsel of bread and cheese."

The French window stood open, and from the garden was blown the scent of
flowers.

Rose brought the bread and cheese, and stood with her hands folded upon
her snowy apron, alert to supply any further wants of the guests.

"And whose horse is that on the drive?" asked the Pilot.

"Amiria's," replied his daughter.

"Good: that's a gal after my heart. I'm glad she's come."

"Take a chair, miss," said Captain Sartoris from the depths of the vast
garments that encumbered him.

"Thank you," replied Rose, "but I've the dinner to cook."

"Most domestic, I'm sure," continued Sartoris, trying hard to say the
correct thing. "Most right an' proper. Personally, I like to see young
ladies attend to home dooties."

Rose laughed. "Which is to say the comfort of you men."

"My gal," said her father sternly, "we have all we want. Me an' these
gen'lemen will be quite happy till dinner-time."

Rose stooped to pick up the boots which her father had discarded for a
pair of carpet-slippers, and rustled out of the room.

"Gen'lemen," said the Pilot of Timber Town, "we'll drink to better luck
next time."

The three men carefully filled their glasses, emptied them in solemn
silence, and put them almost simultaneously with a rattle on the
polished table.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Pilot, after a long-drawn breath. "Four over proof.
Soft as milk, an't it? Goes down like oil, don't it?"

"Most superior tipple," replied the skipper, "but you had your losses in
_The Witch_, same as me and the owners. I had aboard six cases of the
finest port as ever you tasted, sent out for you by your brother; senior
partner of the firm, Mr. Scarlett. 'Cap'n Sartoris,' he says, 'I wish
you good luck and a prosperous voyage, but take care o' that port wine
for my brother. There's dukes couldn't buy it.' 'No, sir,' I says to
him, 'but shipowners an' dukes are different. Shipowners usually get the
pick of a cargo