What would _you_ ha' done?"

"What would I ha' done, Sartoris?" asked the bulky man gruffly. "Why,
damme, I'd ha' beat behind Guardian Point, and took shelter."

"In the dark?"

"In the dark, I tell you."

"Then most likely, Pilot, you'd ha' run _The Witch_ on the Three
Sisters' reefs, or Frenchman's Island. I stood off an' on, back'ard an'
forrard."

"An' shot yourself on to the rocks."

The third man said nothing. He was looking at the Pilot's house and the
flowers while the two captains paused to argue, and fidgeted with the
blanket he wore over his shoulders.

"Well, come in, come in," said the Pilot. "We'll finish the argyment
over a glass an' a snack." And then it was that he had roared for his
daughter, who, leaving Amiria to finish her toilet, tripped downstairs
to meet her father.

"Why, Rosebud, my gal, I've been calling this half-hour," exclaimed
the gruff old Pilot. "An' here's two gentlemen I've brought you, two
shipwrecked sailors--Cap'n Sartoris, of _The Mersey Witch_, and Mr.
Scarlett." His voice sounded like the rattling of nails in a keg, and
his manner was as rough as his voice.

Each blanketed man stepped awkwardly forward and shook hands with the
girl, first the captain, and then the tall, uncomfortable-looking,
younger man, who turned the colour indicated by his name.

"What they want is a rig-out," rumbled the Pilot of Timber Town; "some
coats, Rosebud; some shirts, and a good feed." The grizzled old
mariner's face broke into a grim smile. "I'm Cap'n Summerhayes, an't I?
I'm Pilot o' this port, an't I?--an' Harbour Master, in a manner o'
speaking? Very good, my gal. In all those capacities--regardless that
I'm your dad--I tell you to make these gen'lemen comfortable, as if they
were at home; for you never know, Rosebud, when you may be entertaining
a husband unawares. You never know." And, chuckling, the old fellow led
the shipwrecked men into his bedroom.

When they had been provided with suits belonging to the Pilot, they were
shown into the parlour, where they sat with their host upon oak chairs
round a battered, polished table, with no cloth upon it.

Captain Sartoris was a moderately good-looking man, if a trifle
weather-beaten, but dressed in the Pilot's clothes he was in danger
of being lost and smothered; and Scarlett bore himself like one who
laboured under a load of misery almost too great to be borne, but he had
wisely rejected the voluminous coat proffered by his benefac