sighted it was hugging
the shore, the side opposite the Pixie camp, as though planning a raid
upon the Brownies encamped on that side of the inlet. When the Stygies
had been scattered by Scaly's first onset, this yacht pushed boldly out
from shore, and headed directly for the inlet, as though she would come
to the rescue of her friends. In the excitement of the closing incidents
in Scaly's career, Sightwell had quite forgotten the stranger; but as
the Emma came to anchor, he sighted her once more. She was bearing down
upon the inlet under full sail.

"Sail ho!" cried the lookout.

"Where away?" called Ask the mate.

"Dead ahead, and bearing straight down upon us."

"What do you make her out?"

"A yacht,--a smuggler, I judge. And--yes, there are two boats pulling
along close under her sides!"

"That looks suspicious," said Ask. "Call the Commodore."

Just as Rodney arrived on deck Sightwell called from the fore topmast
cross-trees: "Our boats are about to make an attack,--I mean the boats
that first went out with Scaly and afterward turned back shoreward.
They pull up cautiously to the strangers. The two boats from the yacht
dash away to meet them. They are about to grapple. Hah! No! what can
that mean? The men in the boats rise and swing their hats. The yachtsmen
are hanging in the rigging swinging kerchiefs, scarfs, bonnets and
swords; I can see the flutter of one and the flash of the other in the
moonlight. Hark! they are cheering each other!"

It was so, indeed. Over the shimmering surface of the lake rolled a
volume of sound such as never before went up from so small a company in
all the history of Brownieland.

By this time every soul on shipboard who could get aloft, or find place
at the railings, was gazing across the water and wondering at this
strange occurrence. No one could solve the mystery. Meanwhile the
lookout continued his report: "The whole scene is now fully in view. One
of the Brownie boats is pulling for the shore with might and main; the
other has left the yacht and is making straight for the Emma. The oars
flash in the moonlight, and are played so rapidly that the wake of the
boat is an almost unbroken line of gleaming gold. The Kind, Commander
Takeheed, lies directly in the boat's course, and as the crew pass under
the ship's bows they pause a moment,--only a moment--and then on again
as though making a final spurt at a rowing race.

"But what is this? The whole ship's crew has surely