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148 "By the great Lord Harry!" he ejaculated, but did not stop for questioning.

In his powerful arms he carried her to his cabin, lit the oil lamp, and in the dim light ruefully surveyed the drops glistening on the black strands, the rain of Heaven and her heart's own sorrows commingled on her features.

He gently pillowed the head. The eyes opened.

"Uncle Harve," she called, then for the first time in those long months fell back on hysterics.

"It was terrible—that woman—that man—the parrot—the curiosity—everyone looking at me," then, drying her tears a little,—"Could there be anything holy in that?"

"Nothing but holy mackerel, I guess," he replied, trying to lighten her mood.

A little later she grew calmer and told him of her determination. It was indeed a prettier kettle of fish than he had imagined.

"I can't go home now, and I must find Ben."

"Never mind, tonight. Just put on some dry duds if you've got 'em in your bag, and get a little more sleep, and we'll all have clear heads to think it over in the morning."

"But I can't turn you out of your cabin!"

"Nonsense. Rayer is ashore. I'll use his bunk. Good-night, Sally."

"Uncle Harve, come here— You've got to be father as well as god-father to me now."

And she kissed him. And as he left the cabin he felt that like her mother she was worth all the trouble in the world; that he would like to wring the tough neck of Old Aunt Abi-