e is agreeable, we will run to St. Joseph in the
morning, and have your business done before noon.'"

"The brute!" exclaimed Marian, indignantly. "This has cured me of all
the romance I ever had. I used to think my father was very harsh; but
now I know he was right. He knew this man better than I did."

The familiarity and coarseness of the epistle were very offensive to
her, and she could hardly restrain her indignation.

"'P.S.' I continued, reading from the letter. 'In my hurry I forgot
the most important part of my stores. Please send me a couple of
bottles of whiskey, and let me know all about the fawn.'"

That was all; and Mr. Whippleton wanted but two things--whiskey and
information in regard to the fawn. I intended to furnish him with both,
as the representative of Mr. Ben Waterford. I found a sheet of paper in
the cabin, and I proceeded to describe the condition of the "fawn."

"Dear Charley," I began; and I had heard Mr. Waterford apply this
familiar name to our junior partner: "The fawn is very uneasy, and does
not like the idea of staying over night in this lagoon. I don't think
it is safe for you to remain here. Phil said the officers were on your
track, that Collingsby was after you with a sharp stick. Phil must have
spoken to the fawn, for she is very suspicious. I shall have to leave
in order to quiet her. I am all alone, and can't cook, or do anything,
while sailing. I am in a fix. I want Peter badly. Can't you let me have
him? I need him more than you do. Why can't you leave the Florina here,
and come on board of the Marian? I send you four bottles of whiskey.

"P.S. I got a rap on the right hand in the fight, and can't write
much."

I wrote this with a pencil, and in a style which would pass for
anybody's handwriting who had been wounded in a fight. I folded it up,
and having placed the four bottles of whiskey in a basket, I asked
Marian to deliver them to the cook, while I continued to cough
vigorously. I stood at the companion-way while my fair companion did
the errand.

"Gorrificious, Miss Collingsby!" exclaimed the negro. "Whiskey's plenty
as water, but none of it for old Peter."

"Take this letter to Mr. Whippleton," added Marian.

"Yes, miss. Old Peter'll do that. Can you told me if the letter says
how many bottles of whiskey they is in the basket?"

"It says four."

"Marian," I called to her. "Here is one for Peter."

I gave her the extra bottle, and she presented it to the cook,