one, and
then what should I do?"

Arthur laughed and acquiesced. Sitting down, he wrote a note asking
the manager of the hotel to send his things up to the Quinta Carr,
together with his account, as he was leaving Madeira for the present.

The rest of the morning was spent by everybody in busy preparation.
Boxes were packed and provisions shipped sufficient to victual an
Arctic expedition. At last everything was ready, and at a little after
three they went down the steps leading to the tiny bay, and, embarking
on the smart boat that was waiting for them, were conveyed in safety
to the _Evening Star_, for such was the yacht's name. Arthur suggested
that it should be changed to the _Mildred Carr_, and got snubbed for
his pains.

The _Evening Star_ was a beautiful craft, built on fine lines, but for
all that a wonderful boat in a heavy sea. She was a three-masted
schooner, square-rigged forward, of large beam. Her fittings below
were perfect down to the painted panels after Watteau in the saloon
and the electric bells, and she was rigged either to sail or steam as
might be most convenient. On the present occasion, as there was not
the slightest hurry and no danger of a lee-shore, it was determined
that they should not avail themselves of the steam-power, so the
propeller was hoisted up and everything got ready for that most
delightful thing, a long cruise under canvas.

Arthur was perfectly charmed with everything he saw, and so was Agatha
Terry, until they got under way, when she discovered that a mail-
steamer was a joke compared with the yacht in the matter of motion. In
short, the unfortunate Agatha was soon reduced to her normal condition
of torpor. Mildred always declared that she hibernated on board ship
like a dormouse or a bear. She was not very sea-sick, she simply lay
and slept, eating very little and thinking not at all.

"By the way," said Arthur, as they sailed out of the bay, "I never
gave any directions about my letters."

"Oh! that will not matter," answered Mildred, carelessly, for they
were leaning over the taffrail together; "they will keep them for you
at 'Miles' Hotel.' But, my dear boy, do you know what time it is? Ten
minutes to seven; that dreadful bell with be going in a minute, and
the soup will be spoiled. Run and get ready, do."

CHAPTER LXV

When dinner was over--Miss Terry would have none--they went and sat
upon the moonlit deck. The little vessel wa