lids.

It would seem that Barebone must have an appointment. He walked
without looking about him, like one who is late. He rather avoided
than sought the greeting of a friend from the open cottage-doors as
he passed on. On reaching the quay he turned quickly to the left,
following the path that led toward the dyke at the riverside.

"He is no sailor at heart," commented Colville. "He never even
glanced at his ship."

"And yet it was he who steered the ship in that dangerous river."

"He may be skilful in anything he undertakes," suggested Colville,
in explanation. "It is Captain Clubbe who will tell us that. For
Captain Clubbe has known him since his birth, and was the friend of
his father."

They sat in silence watching the shadowy figure on the dyke,
outlined dimly against the hazy horizon. He was walking, still with
haste as if to a certain destination, toward the rectory buried in
its half circle of crouching trees. And already another shadow was
hurrying from the house to meet him. It was the boy, little Sep
Marvin, and in the stillness of the evening his shrill voice could
be heard in excited greeting.

"What have you brought? What have you brought?" he was crying, as
he ran toward Barebone. They seemed to have so much to say to each
other that they could not wait until they came within speaking
distance. The boy took Barebone's hand, and turning walked back