sire, our coveted thing, our wish, comes and flutters and alights at
our side; if really we have deserved it and have wished long and
deeply and honestly and purposefully. You ask proof? Well, then,
hardly had we three, Black Bart, Jean Lafitte and Henri L'Olonnois,
seated ourselves at table for luncheon that day before I became
sensible of a faint shadow at the saloon stair. I saw a trim boot and
a substantial ankle which I knew belonged to Aunt Lucinda; and then I
looked up and saw on the deck Helena also, stooped, her clean-cut
head, with its blown dark hair, visible against the blue sky.

"May I come in?" she asked gaily enough. And I reached up next to her
to hand her down, and smooth down her skirt for her at the rather
awkward narrow stair.

"You are always invited," said I, and perhaps I flushed in my
pleasure. "John," I called down the tube, "two more--the ladies." And
I heard his calm "All lite."

My young gentlemen had risen, politely, but Helena gently pushed them
down into their places. "Be seated here, ladies," said I. "These
places are, as you see, always spread for you. Your covers wait. And
all the ship's silver shall see duty now. L'Olonnois, my hearty, you
and I shall serve, eh? I am, indeed, delighted--greatly delighted--I
shall not inquire, I shall only hope."

"Well," boomed the deep voice of Auntie Lucinda, "we came because we
did not like the look of things."

"To be sure, things are not looking bully," I assented vaguely.

"I mean the weather. It's getting black, and it's colder. And after
what you told me about the storms, and that lighthouse being blown
down----"

"My dear Mrs. Daniver," said I, helping her to her chair while
L'Olonnois served his Auntie Helena in like fashion, "you really must
not take one too seriously. That lighthouse fell over of its own
weight--the contractor's work was done shamefully."

"But you said it blew," ventured Helena.

"It blows, a little, now and then, to be sure, but never very much,
only enough to enable the oyster boats and shrimpers to get in. How
could we have oysters without a sailing breeze?"

"It's more than a breeze," said Aunt Lucinda. "My neuralgia tells
me----"

"It is fortunate that you honored us, my dear Mrs. Daniver," said I,
"for I have here in the cooler a bottle of ninety-three. I had an
inspiration. I knew you would come, for nothing in the world could
have pleased me so much."

I was looking at Helena, whose eyes were cast