s head.

"Think he's any chance of getting the app'intment?" queried Adam
Lewis.

"Not the ghost of a chance," said Cooper Creasy decidedly. "He's on
the wrong side of politics, that's what. Er rather his father was. A
Tory's son ain't going to get an app'intment from a Lib'ral
government, that's what."

"Mr. Barr says that Everett is too young to be trusted in such a
responsible position," quoted Natty gravely.

Cooper shrugged his shoulders.

"Mebbe--mebbe. Eighteen is kind of green, but everybody knows that
Ev's been the real lighthouse keeper for two years, since your father
took sick. Irving Elliott wants that light--has wanted it for
years--and he's a pretty strong pull at headquarters, that's what.
Barr owes him something for years of hard work at elections. I ain't
saying anything against Elliott, either. He's a good man, but your
father's son ought to have that light as sure as he won't get it,
that's what."

"Any of you going to take in the sports tomorrow down at Summerside?"
asked Will Scott, in order to switch Cooper away from politics, which
were apt to excite him.

"I'm going, for one," said Adam. "There's to be a yacht race atween
the Summerside and Charlottetown boat clubs. Yes, I am going. Give you
a chance down to the station, Natty, if you want one."

Natty shook his head.

"Not going," he said briefly.

"You should celebrate Victoria Day," said Adam, patriotically.
"'Twenty-fourth o' May's the Queen's birthday, Ef we don't get a
holiday we'll all run away,' as we used to say at school. The good old
Queen is dead, but the day's been app'inted a national holiday in
honour of her memory and you should celebrate it becoming, Natty-boy."

"Ev and I can't both go, and he's going," explained Natty. "Prue and
I'll stay home to light up. Must be getting back now. Looks squally."

"I misdoubt if we'll have Queen's weather tomorrow," said Cooper,
squinting critically at the sky. "Looks like a northeast blow, that's
what. There goes Bliss, striding off and looking pretty mad. The
_Cockawee's_ a dead loss to him, that's what. Nat's off--he knows how
to handle a boat middling well, too. Pity he's such a puny youngster.
Not much to him, I reckon."

Natty had cast loose in his boat, the _Merry Maid_, and hoisted his
sail. In a few minutes he was skimming gaily down the bay. The wind
was fair and piping and the _Merry Maid_ went like a bird. Natty, at
the rudder, steered for Blue Point Island, a re