rst party
had made themselves some huts and now we made more for ourselves who
were new-comers, with tents of a kind out of sail-cloth that we had
brought from the ship, and for Lancelot a large double hut covered with
some of this same cloth for him and Marjorie to dwell in. And, Lord!
what a joy it was to see how Marjorie bestirred herself making herself
as good a lieutenant to Lancelot as Captain's heart could desire. But we
were all so busy that in those hours on that island I seldom had speech
with her, for my care was chiefly with those discontented and weaklings
who were so eager to complain and make mischief.

It seemed to me then that the best man of all that pack was the woman
Barbara Hatchett. For while the colonists were making poor mouths over
their plight and piping as querulously as sparrows after rain, and while
the sailors were for the most part sour and sullen, Barbara took her lot
with cheerfulness, and had smiles and smooth words for everybody and
everything. She had even smiles and smooth words with me, who had
exchanged no speech with her beyond forced greeting for this many a day.
For she came up to me laughing once, at a time when I stood alone and
was, indeed, thinking of Marjorie who was busy in her hut at some task
that Lancelot had set her. Barbara began to banter with me in a way that
seemed strange with her, saying that I was fickle like all my sex, that
I was sighing for fair hair now, who had doted on black locks a few
years ago, and much more idle talk to the same want of purpose. At last
she asked me bluntly if I had loved her once, and when I answered yes,
she asked me if I loved her still, now that she was a married woman; and
without giving me time to answer she said that she had a kindness for
me, and would do me a good turn yet for the sake of old days when she
came to be queen.

I was vexed with her for the vanity and importunity of her mirth, and to
stop her words I asked her bluntly if she had ever seen a black flag.
But my question had no effect to disconcert her gaiety.

'You mean the black flag of poor Jensen?' she said; and when I nodded
she began to pity Jensen for his belief in his trophy, which, after all,
had brought him no more luck than a sea grave; and then she went on with
shrillish laughter to tell me that she had begged it of him to give her
to make into a petticoat, 'For it would have made a bonny petticoat,
would it not?' she said suddenly, coming to a sharp en