"Very
pretty," he said, "very neat. A lovely little toy port, such as you see
at the theayter. It only wants the chorus o' fisher girls warbling on
that there beach road, and the pirate brig bringing-to just opposite,
an' the thing would be complete."

"Eh! What?" ejaculated the Pilot. "What's this play-goin' gammon? You
talk like a schoolboy that's fed on jam tarts and novelettes, Sartoris.
Let's talk sense. Have you ever heard of an occulting light?"

"No, certainly not; not by that name, anyhow."

"D'you know what an apparent light is?"

"No, but I know plenty of apparent fools."

"An apparent light is a most ingenious contraption."

"I've no doubt."

"It's a optical delusion, and makes two lights o' one--one on shore,
which is the real one, and one here, which is the deception." But while
the Pilot went on to talk of base plates, lewis bats, and all the
paraphernalia of his craft, the skipper's eye was fixed on a string of
little islands which stood off the end of the western arm of the great
bay outside.

"Now, I never saw those when I was coming in," said he. "Where did you
get them islands from, Summerhayes? Are they occulting, real, or
apparent? Changing your landmarks, like this, is deceiving."

The Pilot, forgetting the technicalities of his profession, looked at
the phenomenon which puzzled the skipper, and said, as gruffly as a
bear, "That's no islands: it's but a bit of a mirage. Sometimes there's
only one island, sometimes three, sometimes more--it's accordin' to
circumstances. But what's this craft coming down the bay? Barque or
ship, Sartoris?--I've forgot me glass."

Both men stood on the seaward edge of the island, and looked long and
hard at the approaching vessel.

"Barque," said Sartoris, whose eyes were keener than the older man's.

"There's no barque due at this port for a month," said the Pilot. "The
consignees keep me posted up, for to encourage a sharp lookout. The _Ida
Bell_ should arrive from London towards the middle of next month, but
_she_ is a ship. This must be a stranger, putting in for water or
stores; or maybe she's short-handed."

For a long time they watched the big craft, sailing before the breeze.

"Sartoris, she's clewing up her courses and pulling down her
head-sails."

"Isn't she a trifle far out, Pilot?"

"It's good holding-ground out there--stiff clay that would hold
anything. What did I tell you?--there you are--coming-to. She's got
starn-board. There g