with her bows pointed up the river, and the other, drifting past, at
this moment swung her tall poop into view with her windows flashing
against the afternoon sun, and beneath them her name, the _Josiah
Childs_, in tall gilt letters.

"Better make it a crown, ma'am," the waterman repeated with a drunken
chuckle.

Mrs. Wesley rose in her seat. Her hand went up, and Charles made
sure she meant to box the man's ears. He could not see the look on
her face, but whatever it was it cowed the fellow, who seized his
oars again and began to pull for dear life, as she sat back and laid
her hand on the tiller.

"Easy, now," she commanded, after twenty strokes or so. "Easy, and
ship your oar, unless you want it broken!" But for answer he merely
stared at her, and a moment later his starboard oar snapped its
tholepin like a carrot, and hurled him back over his thwart as the
boat ran alongside the _Albemarle's_ ladder.

"My friend," said Mrs. Wesley coolly, "you have a pestilent habit of
not listening. I hired you to row me to the _Albemarle_, and this, I
believe, is she." Then, with a glance up at the half-dozen grinning
faces above the bulwarks, "Can I see Captain Bewes?"

"Your servant, ma'am." The captain appeared at the head of the
ladder; a red apple-cheeked man in shirt-sleeves and clean white
nankeen breeches, who looked like nothing so much as an overgrown
schoolboy.