Through the moonlight Steve saw a woman running down to the edge of the water.
"How are you, John?" called her pleasant voice through a megaphone.
"I'm well; how are the folks?"
"They're all well."
"Any news?"
"Nothing except that Betty has six pretty white chickens and she's terribly cross."
"Put her in the soup," suggested the captain.
Just then a little white-robed figure appeared at an upper window of the captain's home. In her hand the little one also held a megaphone. It was the captain's twelve-year-old daughter, Marie, the apple of his eye.
"H-e-l-l-o P-Pa-pa-a-a," came the greeting in a childish treble.
"Hello, Marie!" bellowed Bob Jarvis from the rail aft of the bridge.