stamped him as the light-hearted singer, so different from the
Farlingford men, so strongly contrasted to his hearers, who
nevertheless jerked their heads sideways in response. He had, it
seemed, rightly gauged the feelings of these cold East Anglians.
They were his friends.

River Andrew's boat was alongside "The Last Hope" now. Some one had
thrown him a rope, which he had passed under his bow thwart and now
held with one hand, while with the other he kept his distance from
the tarry side of the ship. There was a pause until the schooner
felt her moorings, then Captain Clubbe looked over the side and
nodded a curt salutation to River Andrew, bidding him, by the same
gesture, wait a minute until he had donned his shore-going jacket.
The steersman was pulling on his coat while he sought among the
crowd the faces of his more familiar friends. He was, it seemed, a
privileged person, and took it for granted that he should go ashore
with the captain. He was, perhaps, one of those who seemed to be
privileged at their birth by Fate, and pass through life on the
sunny side with a light step and laughing lips.

Captain Clubbe was the first to step ashore, with one comprehensive
nod of the head for all Farlingford. Close on his heels the younger
sailor was already returning the greetings of his friends.

"Hullo, Loo!" they said; or, "How do, Barebone?" For their tongues
are no quicker than their limbs, and to this day, "How do?" is the
usual greeting.

The Marquis de Gemosac, who was sitting in the background, gave a
sharp little exclamation of surprise when Barebone stepped ashore,