"That's her," chuckled Triplett. "She allus were a speritted female."
The others looked on wonderingly as the Captain dropped over the stern into our cockle-boat, pulled toward the dock and took the bulky figure aboard.
"Who the devil is this?" asked Plock, scowling darkly, as they neared our counter.
"My sewing woman," I said briefly. "Lend a hand, man."
He did so with an ill grace, and a moment later I saw him whispering to Wigmore and Sloff with every evidence of displeasure. I myself was not a little upset at the over-exuberance of Triplett's manner toward this strange woman. She was a dark, unkempt creature with bright gray-blue eyes which contrasted strangely with her brown cheeks. Her hair, what we could see of it, under her man's cap, was nondescript; teeth irregular. Two extraordinary qualities, however, she had—a smile which vivified her oddness with an unearthly beauty, a brilliant, mocking irradiation that made her look magically youthful, a crone metamorphosed into a little girl, and a voice—O, a mystery of still waters!—such a voice!—a deep resonant contralto, at once caressing and vibrant, with strange breaks and husky notes, melting softnesses and brazen clangor! The Captain was delighted with the reunion.
"My leetle apple!" he cried, patting her, and, indeed, the term was not inexact as her dusky cheeks flashed with pleasure 'neath his great paws.
"How you've grown, Ezra!" she laughed, pointing to his capacious girth.
"Ain't I, though," he assented; "mostly 'round the water-line!"