er her breath, gazing
rapturously at her idol.

White Bow repeated her query.

"He's--he's Mr. Mainwaring," replied Georgina. "My Mr. Mainwaring."
Which is about as much information as any young woman may reasonably be
expected to give another who betrays too lively an interest in her
beloved.

The Torpedo Lieutenant waved his arm in a gesture of indiscriminate
greeting, and the children responded with a fluttering of hands and
dancing eyes. The steam pinnace was following hard in the wake of the
picket-boat.

Jane, with the far-seeing eye of love, recognised the occupant
instantly. "There's Mr. Standish," she said. "_My_ Mr. Standish!"

The nurse of Georgina, Jane, and Cornelius James turned to the
Providence that brooded over a small boy with a freckled face. "Did
you ever hear such children?" she asked in an aside. "_Her_ Mr.
Standish! That's the way they goes on all day!"

The other nodded. "Mine's like that, too; only it's our ship's
Sergeant of Marines with him." Master Freckles's choice in the matter
of an idol had evidently not lacked the wise guidance of his nurse.

The boats swung alongside in the calm waters of the basin. The Torpedo
Lieutenant handed his freight of frills and furbelows to the Coxswain's
outstretched arms. The small boys to a man disdained the helping hand,
but scrambled with fine independence into the stern sheets.

"Sit still a minute." The Indiarubber Man counted. ". . .
Eight--twelve! Hallo! Six absentees---- No, Corney, you can't steer,
because I'm going to clap you all below hatches the moment we get
outside." He raised his voice, hailing the picket-boat. "All right,
Torps?" The Torpedo Lieutenant signified that they were all aboard the
lugger, and off they went.

The nurses assembled on the end of the jetty waved their handkerchiefs
with valedictory gestures; the wind caught their shrill farewells and
tossed them contemptuously to where the gulls wheeled far overhead.

"My! Isn't it blowing!" said the small boy in freckles, indifferent to
his nurse's lamentations of farewell. "Look at Nannie's skirts, like a
balloon. . . ."

"Yes," agreed the Torpedo Lieutenant gravely. "It's what's called a
typhoon. I've only seen one worse, and that was the day I sailed in
pursuit of Bill Blubbernose, the Bargee Buccaneer."

Georgina cast him a glance of passionate credence.

"Oh!" gasped Freckles, "have you really chased pirates?" The Torpedo
Lieutenant nodded