"I intend to watch, whether put on or not. And by the key of Saint Tugean I shall have discovered something before to-morrow morning comes."
"Undoubtedly. You will discover that you would have acted more wisely by going with us to the Pardon to-day. That's the ticket for me. Life is sad: then let us not miss any of its gaieties. And in all Finistère there are no pancakes and cider like those of St. Remé."
The rest of the coastguard, murmuring their approval of these sentiments, dispersed in order to prepare for the Pardon, or church-festival, to be held that day in a distant village; of which festival the harbour-master's wife had, on the previous evening, drawn so pleasant a forecast in the hearing of Idris, that the little fellow had felt great disappointment on learning that his mother intended to take no part in the celebration.
Madame Marais had been somewhat troubled by the question as to how her tenant's meals were to be prepared during her absence, but Mrs. Breakspear had solved this difficulty by offering to arrange for herself.
Meantime Idris, still at the head of the pier-steps, continued his survey of the vessel.
A piece of canvas hanging over the taffrail was suddenly drawn up by a sailor on board, an act that enabled Idris to see the name of the yacht painted in big black letters.
N-E-M-E-S-I-S.
Nemesis! This was a word new to him. He had known sailors call their boats Marie, Isabelle, Jeanne, and the like, with various epithets prefixed, as jolie, belle, and petite, but never Nemesis. He could not tell whether it was the name of man or woman: so, on returning home, he sought enlightenment of his mother.
"It's a curious name to give to a ship," commented the little fellow thoughtfully, after Mrs. Breakspear had tried to explain the meaning of the term. "Why do they call it that? Are they going to take vengeance on somebody?"