the brews of roots and leaves. The skipper and Cormick went far afield
and succeeded in shooting several willow-grouse, and these Mother Nolan
made into broth for Flora. The best of everything that could be
procured was hers. She began to recover strength at last, and then each
day brought improvement. By this time she and Mary Kavanagh had warmed
toward each other until a friendship was established. Flora had thanked
Mary beautifully, many times over, for her care, and had talked a great
deal of herself and her ambitions. She had told Mary and Mother Nolan
the hardships and glories of her past and her great dreams for the
future. On the day that Mary was to go back to her father, Flora drew
her down and kissed her fondly.

"You and Mother Nolan have saved my life," she said, "and I am your
friend--yours especially, Mary--forever and ever. I shall prove my love
and gratitude, you may be sure. Out in the big world, Mary, I am
_somebody_--I have the power to do kindnesses and repay debts. New York
is full of fame and money, and a great deal of it is waiting for me."

Mary thanked her, kissed her in return, and said gently that she did not
want to be rewarded for her nursing, except by love. She added that it
was Black Dennis Nolan, the skipper, who had saved Flora's life.

"I remember him vaguely," said the other. "He took me away from that
terrible place where I was swaying and tossing between the waves and the
sky. The queer things I saw in my fever dreams have dimmed the memory of
the wreck, thank God--and now they themselves are growing dim. He is a
big man, is he not, and young and very strong? And his eyes are almost
black, I think. I will pay him for what he has done, you may be sure,
Mary. I suppose he is a fisherman, or something of that kind?"