said Miss Colton, "I am afraid you don't learn by experience.
You have lost one bet already, you know."

"That's so. And I haven't paid it yet, either. I must, or you'll be
telling every one that I am a poor sport. Paine, this young lady bet me
a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--"

"Father," broke in the young lady, herself, "stop."

"Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, Paine;
SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties."

She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I could
not see her face. She spoke without turning.

"You thought yours was the certainty," she said. "You warned me that I
was sure to lose."

"Did I? Well, you may, even yet. On the whole, I think I'll wait a while
before buying those gloves. Remember, there was no time limit. When you
said that--"

"Father," more firmly, "please be quiet. You have said quite enough. Mr.
Paine is not likely to be interested in the family gambling."

I was interested in this particular "gamble." The wager had, obviously,
something to do with me. I suppose I should have felt flattered at being
made the subject of a bet in such select circles, but I did not. I had
not been informed as to the details of that bet.

There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers
talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying breeze.
It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at Crow Point and
entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our own against the
tide. The sun set, twilight came, and the stars appeared one by one.
Colton, lying at full length on the deck forward of the cockpit, smoked
in lazy enjoyment. His only remark in ten minutes was to the effect that
his wife had probably drowned us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by
now.

His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth,
darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet.

"You must not talk," she said. "This is the most wonderful night I ever
experienced. How still it is! You can hear every sound. Hark!"

From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell striking
eight.

"That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?" asked Miss
Colton.

"Yes," said I.

"The church where the strawberry festival was held?"

"Yes."

Colton struck a match to relight his cigar.

"Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of you," he
observed. "I