p alongside. One by one the men
of Farlingford, pipe in mouth, went toward the river, not forgetting the
kindly, sideward jerk of the head for the old Frenchman already waiting
there.

It was nearly the top of the tide and the clear green water swelled
and gurgled round the weedy piles of the quay, bringing on its surface
tokens from the sea--shadowy jelly-fish, weed, and froth. "The Last
Hope" was quite close at hand now, swinging up in mid-stream. The
sun had set and over the marshes the quiet of evening brooded hazily.
Captain Clubbe had taken in all sail except a jib. His anchor was
swinging lazily overside, ready to drop. The watchers on the quay could
note the gentle rise and fall of the crack little vessel as the tide
lifted her from behind. She seemed to be dancing to her home like a
maiden back from school. The swing of her tapering masts spoke of the
heaving seas she had left behind.

It was characteristic of Farlingford that no one spoke. River Andrew was
already in his boat, ready to lend a hand should Captain Clubbe wish to
send a rope ashore. But it was obvious that the captain meant to anchor
in the stream for the night: so obvious that if any one on shore had
mentioned the conclusion his speech would have called for nothing but a
contemptuous glance from the steady blue eyes all round him.

It was equally characteristic of a Farlingford ship that there were no
greetings from the deck. Those on shore could clearly perceive the burly
form of Captain Clubbe, standing by the weather rigging. Wives could
distinguish their husbands, and girls their lovers; but, as these were
attending to their business with a taciturn concentration, no hand was
raised in salutation.

The wind had dropped now. For these are coasts of quiet nights and
boisterous days. The tide was almost slack. "The Last Hope" was scarcely
moving, and in the shadowy light looked like a phantom ship sailing out
of a dreamy sunset sky.

Suddenly the silence was broken, so unexpectedly, so dramatically, that
the old Frenchman, to whose nature such effects would naturally appeal
with a lightning speed, rose to his feet and stood looking with startled
eyes toward the ship. A clear strong voice had broken joyously into
song, and the words it sang were French:

"C'est le Hasard,
Qui, tot ou tard,
Ici bas nous seconde;
Car,
D'un bout du monde
A l'autre bout,
Le Hasard seul fait tout."

Not only were