see all that was to be seen? And of course it was the duty of the elders
to see that the children came to no harm. So the fathers were strolling
leisurely down, saying to each other that 'twas all nonsense, most
likely, and nothing worth seeing, but some one ought to be looking out
that the boys and the women folks didn't get cheated. The mothers were
putting on their bonnets, in the serene consciousness that if anyone was
going to be cheated it was not they, and that goodness knew what those
men-folks would be up to on that schooner if they were left to
themselves. And the little girls were shaking the pennies out of their
money boxes, or if they had no boxes, watching with eager eyes their
more fortunate sisters. Truly, it was a great day in the village.

The Skipper welcomed one and all. He stood by the gang-plank, and Franci
stood by him, cap in hand, smiling in a beautiful way. On the rail were
perched two little monkeys, their arms round each other's shoulders,
their bright eyes watching with eager curiosity all that went on. When
the Skipper bowed, they bowed; when he smiled, they grinned; and when he
put out his hand to help a woman or a child aboard, they laid their
hands on their hearts, and tried to look like Franci. The Skipper was
their lord and master, and they loved and feared him, and did his
bidding as often as their nature would allow; but in the depths of their
little monkey hearts they cherished a profound admiration for Franci,
and they were always hoping that this time they were looking like him
when they smiled. (But they never were!)

The only other visible member of the crew was a long, lazy-looking
Yankee, whom the Skipper called Rento, and the others plain "Rent," his
full name of Laurentus Woodcock being more than they could away with.
But it was not to see the crew, neither the schooner (though she was a
pretty schooner enough, as anybody who knew about such matters could