A big passenger boat coming into the harbor passed them swiftly, giving two long whistles by way of greeting. Lemmy caught the tinkle of music and the sound of people laughing on board—then suddenly they were gone.
Out—out—past all the lights went the Northern Star straight into the silver white moon path stretching endlessly across the water.
Lemmy looked up at the winking stars and leaned comfortably back against the Cap’n’s arm.
“I’m safe now from the ’Dopters,” he whispered exultantly.
“We’ve given them the slip,” the Cap’n assured him. “They’ll never get you now.”
Dreamily, with his head upon the Cap’n’s shoulder, Lemmy happily fingered the ebony ring which had somehow “got majicked” into his pocket.
Aileen Cleveland Higgins.
PREM SINGH
Prem Singh had company. When I went in the gathering dusk to feed the cow I noticed, instead of the usual solitary figure crouched above the little camp fire in the open, two lean forms silhouetted against the dancing flames, while a flow of guttural conversation that broke occasionally into seemingly excited treble argument mingled with the fragrant smoke from burning greasewood roots.
“He probably has a letter from India,” I told the Lady of the Castle, when I went back into the little stone house, “and has rung in a chap from the gang below to read it to him.”