“Land’s End is a weeny bit of a thing, isn’t it?”
“Not very large, Weezy. That sharp tongue is called Lizard’s Point. People there are watching out and every time an ocean steamer comes in, they telegraph about it to New York.”
“Why, Paul, I think that’s telling tales. Can’t a ship”—began Weezy; but was interrupted by this glad cry from Kirke,—
“The pilot boat! Paul, the pi-lot boat!”
A white-winged yacht was approaching. When it had come near enough, the steamer stopped and took the pilot on board. The passengers smiled as he mounted the rope-ladder at the vessel’s side, for now they knew they should land in France the next morning. No vessel is ever allowed to land without a pilot to show her the way.
“Come, Weezy, it’s time to dress for dinner,” said Molly a little later, pausing in a promenade with Miss Evans. “We want to look our very best to-night, Weezy, because the captain is going to give a grand Fourth of July banquet.”
“I knew that; I heard it before you did, Molly Rowe.”
Weezy skipped away with her sister to their stateroom, and when the bell rang they entered the dining-saloon, arrayed in their finest apparel.
The saloon was a brilliant mass of color. American flags draped the walls; the tables were decked in red, white, and blue; and every napkin was a white tower with a small flag at its top.
“They’ve planted our ‘Old Glory’ everywhere,” said Paul. “Only see!”