the various craft, and shrinking back as a seaman
passed her. Abreast of the _Seamew_ she stopped, and in the same
doubtful manner looked down on the deck. The skipper crossed to the
side, and straining his eyes through the gloom, looked up at her.

"Is this the _Seamew_?" inquired a fresh girlish voice.

"Annis!" shouted the astounded skipper. "Annis!"

He ran up the rigging, and stepping on to the quay seized her hand. Then
he drew her unresistingly towards him and was in the act of passing
his arm round her waist when he remembered his position and drew back
awkwardly.

"Come on board," he said gently.

He straddled from the quay to the rigging, and extending his hand in the
midst of a perfect silence, helped her to the deck.

"Where is my father?" she said eagerly.

Wilson made no reply.

"Where is he?" she repeated.

Wilson shook his head. "I don't know," he said gloomily, "I don't know.
He was here an hour or two ago. He was here yesterday."

She caught his arm breathlessly.

"Where is he now? What have you done with him?"

Wilson told her all he knew and having finished, watched her anxiously
as she drew back a little and tapped on the deck with her foot.

A badly-blended chorus, making up in strength what it lacked in harmony,
sounded on the quay, and gradually coming nearer, stopped at the
_Seamew_ for a final shout. The finale was rendered by the cook and Dick
with much vehemence, while Sam, excited by his potations, danced madly
before them.

"Silence up there!" shouted the skipper sternly, as Annis shrank away.

"A' right, sir," hiccupped Dick solemnly. "I'm lookin' after them. Mind
how you break your neck, Sam."

Thus adjured, Sam balanced himself on the edge of the quay, and
executing a double shuffle on the very brink of it by way of showing his
complete mastery over his feet, fell into the rigging and descended. He
was followed by Dick and the cook, both drunk, and both preternaturally
solemn.

"Get below," said the skipper sharply.

"Ay, ay, sir," said Dick, with a lurch. "Come on, Sam, we--ain't
wanted--here."

"It's all your damned dancing, Sam!" said the cook--who had ever an eye
for beauty--plaintively.

"Will you get below?" roared the maddened skipper, giving him a push.

"I'm very sorry," he said, turning to Annis as they disappeared;
"everything seems to be going wrong to-night."

"It doesn't matter," she said coldly. "Goodnight."

"Where are you going?" asked Wilso