may take all the
time she wants, so far as I'm
concerned--

SMITH'S LOG.

Out of the blue void of a fleckless sky, came whooping at dawn a
boisterous wind. All the little waves jumped from their slow-swinging
cradles to play with it, and, as they played, became big waves, with all
the sportiveness of children and all the power of giants. The Clan
Macgregor was their toy.

At first she pretended indifference, and strove to keep the even tenor
of her way, regardless of them. But they were too much and too many for
her. She began to cripple and jig most painfully for one of her size and
dignity. She limped, she wobbled, she squattered, she splashed and
sploshed, she reeled hither and thither like an intoxicated old rounder
buffeted by a crowd of practical jokers, and she lost time hand over
fist, to the vast approval of Mr. Alexander Forsyth Smith. Time was now
just so much capital to his hopes.

The tonic seduction of the gale was too much for Little Miss Grouch.
This was no day for a proven sailor to be keeping between decks.
Moreover, the maiden panic was now somewhat allayed. The girl's
emotions, after the first shock of the surprise and the resentment of
the hitherto untouched spirit, had come under control. She could now
face a Daddleskink or a regiment of Daddleskinks, unmoved, so she
felt--with proper support. Hence, like the Tyro, she was on deck early.

So they met. As in the mild and innocent poem of Victorian days, "'twas
in a crowd." Little Miss Grouch had provided the crowd, and the Tyro
simply added one to it. He was fain if not wholly content to stay in the
background and bide his chance.

Now Little Miss Grouch, ignorant of the fact that her high-priced
counsel had betrayed her cause, marveled and was disturbed when the Tyro
approached, greeted her, and straightway dropped into the fringe of
Society as constituted by herself for the occasion. Was he deliberately,
in the face of his own belief that imprisonment would be the penalty of
any communication between her and himself, willing to risk her liberty?
If so, he was not the man she had taken him for. Little Miss Grouch's
ideal was rocking a bit on his pedestal.

Patience was not one of the young lady's virtues. On the other hand, the
compensating quality of directness was. "Do It Now" was her prevailing
motto. She wanted to know what her slave meant by his abrupt change of
attitude, and she