“No, sir. I mean, no, madam! I go to Ottawotta? I allow my faithful Billy to set foot on that soil? No, ma’am. I will not. I will simply bid you good day. And young miss, let me tell you, what your relative here seems to have forgot; that no old Marylander, of first quality, would ha’ turned a guest loose to shift for himself in such a way as this. But—what can you expect? Times ain’t what they were and you cayn’t count on anybody any more. I bid you all good day, and a pleasant v’yage. As for Billy an’ me, we’ll bestow ourselves where we are better appreciated.”
Poor Mrs. Calvert was distressed. Not often in her long life had the charge of inhospitality been laid at her door, and she hastened to explain that she wished him still to remain with them, only——
With a magnificent wave of his not too clean hand and bowing in the courtliest fashion, the disappointed visitor stepped grandly over the gang-plank, and a moment later was ordering, in his saddest tones:
“Billy, lie down!”
Billy obediently shook his harness, disordered by the efforts of the lads to straighten it, and crumpled himself up on the sward. The Colonel majestically placed himself upon the back of “his only friend;” commanded: “Billy, get up!” and slowly rode away up-slope to his own deserted melon-patch.
“Now, isn’t that a pity!” cried Dorothy, with tears in her eyes. “I didn’t care for him while he was here, though Billy was just charming—for a mule! But I do hate quarreling and he’s gone off mad.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish!” said Mrs. Bruce, fervently. Then shaded her eyes with her hands to stare out toward the broader water in search of the missing fishermen, while the pretty Water Lily began to move away from the little wharf which had become so familiar.
Meanwhile, out beyond the mouth of the river, within the shelter of a tree-shaded cove, the would-be fishermen were having adventures of their own. It was a spot which Cap’n Jack knew well and was that he had intended to reach when the little red “Stem” of the Water Lily was lowed away from her. Here was a collection of small houses, mere huts in fact, occupied by fishermen during the mild seasons. Here would always be found some old cronies of his, shipmates of the oyster-boats that plied their trade during the cold months of the year.
The truth was that the “skipper” was not only lonely, so far from his accustomed haunts, but he wanted a chance to show these old mates of his how his fortunes had risen, to hear the news and give it.