"Hello, Junior!" cried one of the men in oil-skins,—"how did you make out on Silver Shoals?"
"All right, father," he began; but his father had caught sight of Athalie who had risen to retreat.
"Who are you, young lady?" he inquired with a jolly smile,—"are you little Red-Riding Hood or the Princess Far Away, or perhaps the Sleeping Beauty recently awakened?"
"I'm Athalie Greensleeve."
"Lady Greensleeves! I knew you were somebody quite as distinguished as you are beautiful. Would you mind saying to Mr. Greensleeve that there is much moaning on the bar, and that it will still continue until he arrives to instil the stillness of the still—"
"What?"
"We merely want a drink, my child. Don't look so seriously and distractingly pretty. I was joking, that's all. Please tell your father how very thirsty we are."
As the child turned to obey, C. Bailey, Sr., put one big arm around her shoulders: "I didn't mean to tease you on such short acquaintance," he whispered. "Are you offended, little Lady Greensleeves?"