“I'll never forget it, Is,” continued Sam. “I—Why! What—?”
He was standing at the shore end of the wharf, gazing up at the lighted windows. They were those of a dwelling house—an old-fashioned house with a back yard sloping down to the landing.
And then Issy McKay leaned forward and spoke in his ear.
“You bet you won't forgit it, Sam Bartlett!” he crowed, in trembling but delicious triumph. “You bet you won't! I've fixed you just the same as the Black Rover fixed the mutineers. Run off with my girl, will ye? And marry her, will ye? I—”
Sam interrupted him. “Why! WHY!” he cried. “That's—that's Gertie's house! This isn't Trumet! IT'S EAST HARNISS!”
The next moment he was seized from behind. The skipper's arms were around his waist and the skipper's thin legs twisted about his own. They fell together upon the sand and, as they rolled and struggled, Issy's yells rose loud and high.
“Mr. Higgins!” he shrieked. “Mr. Higgins! Come on! I've got him! I've got the feller that's tryin' to steal your daughter! Come on! I've got him! I'm hangin' to him!”
A door banged open. Some one rushed down the walk. And then a girl's voice cried in alarm:
“What is it? Who is it? What IS the matter?”
And from the bundle of legs and arms on the ground two voices exclaimed: “GERTIE!”