lite but evidently pointed inquiries.

To most of these there was really no adequate reply, and the good
woman had grown more hurt and more shrinking with every hour of the
day. Now, with little orphan Josie at her side, she came out to see
the departure of the fleet.

Suddenly there came the squeaking of blocks and the rattle and scrape
of rings as foresails were rushed up at peak and throat. Headsails
raced into position, and, with the anchors cat-headed; the vessels,
with their captains at the wheels or tillers, swung into the wind and
began to crawl ahead.

Behind them, as they forged toward the passage, lay the gray
scimitar of stony beach half a mile long. Beyond it were the
white, contented-looking cottages built along the road, and back of
all rose the vivid green mountains, covered with pine, tamarack, and
silver birch, above whose tops at the line of the summit there
appeared three terrific, puffy thunder-heads.

As they moved toward Flag Point the gaily colored crowds moved with
them past the post-office, the stores, the burned wharfs, and the fish
stands.

Captain Bijonah Tanner, by right of seniority, led the way in the
_Rosan_ as commodore of the fleet. He stood to his tiller like a
graven image, looking neither to right nor left, but gripping his pipe
with all the strength of his remaining teeth.

He hoped that his triumph would not be lost upon his wife. Nor was it,
for it was a month afterward before the neighbors ceased to hear how
her Bige was the best captain that ever sailed out of Freekirk Head.

At Swallowtail Bijonah rounded the point, gave one majestic wave of
his hat in farewell, and put the _Rosan_ over on the starboard tack,
for the course was southeast, and followed practically the wake of
Code Schofield.

One after another the schooners and sloops, closely bunched, came
about as smartly as their crews could bring them--and the smartest of
them all was Nat Burns's _Nettie B._

Nellie Tanner, jealous for her father's prestige, could not but admire
the splendid discipline and tactics that whipped the _Nettie_ about on
the tack and sent her flying ahead of the _Rosan_ like a great
seabird. Once Swallowtail was passed the voyage had begun, and the
lead belonged to any one who could take it.

At last the knifelike edge of Long Island shut them out completely,
and seemed at the same instant to cut the last bonds and ties that had
stretched from one to another as long as vision lasted.