thousand eyes, and every voice was
husky. To most of these people, Betty Cruise meant nothing, but she was
to lie out there alone on the wind-swept point, and they were deeply
moved. They all went back to work after the midday meal, a strangely
silent, thoughtful company,--even down to the lowliest "Portugee."

Mr. Mott, the gaunt old cynic, surprised every one, including himself,
by adopting the infant! He announced his decision on the day after the
funeral.

"That baby's got to have a father and a grandfather and a mother, and
all that," he declared to Captain Trigger, "and I'm going to be all of
them, Weatherby. It ain't legal, I know, and I reckon I'll have to turn
her over to her proper relatives if they make any demand,--provided we
ever get off this island,--but while she's here she's mine, and that
settles it, and as long afterward as God's willing. Chances are that no
one at home will want to be bothered with an infant that don't actually
belong to 'em, so I shouldn't wonder but what I'll have her always. What
are you laughing at?"

"I was just thinking that you didn't mention anything about being a
grandmother to her."

"Is that meant to be sarcastic?"

"Not at all," said the Captain hastily, noting the look in Mr. Mott's
eyes. "But for fear you may think it was, I take it all back, Andrew."

"I laid awake all last night worrying about how lonely and useless
and unoccupied I'm going to be if we stick here on this island for any
considerable length of time, not to say, always, and I made up my mind
that if I had that kid to bring up, life would be sort of worth while.
I'll probably live a good deal longer if I have something to live and
work for. Ain't that so?"

"It certainly is," agreed the Captain. "Do you mind my asking how you're
going to feed it?"

"I've got that all attended to," said Mr. Mott calmly. "I've been to
see three of these women who've got tiny babies, and they've promised
between 'em to nurse this one. It's all fixed, Captain. Of course, I
don't know how it's going to work out, seeing as one of 'em is Spanish,
one of 'em Portugee and the other a full-blooded Indian,--but they're
all healthy."

"It's very noble of you, Andrew," said the Captain, laying his hand on
the First Officer's shoulder.

"Absolutely not," snapped Mr. Mott. "It's nothing but plain, rotten
selfishness on my part,--and I don't give a damn who knows it."

CHAPTER VI.

Inside of a fortnight after