GILBOT, landlord of the Ship, sat before a roaring fire in his comfortable kitchen, singing in a quavering, tipsy voice, and beating out the accompaniment with an empty pot on one podgy knee.

It was six o’clock in the evening, and already the tallow dips had been lighted. They cast a flickering, friendly glow over the scene, the long, low room, stone-flagged and small-windowed, the ale barrels and rum kegs neatly arranged side by side on a form which ran nearly all the way round the wall, and the two long, trestled tables, flanked with high-backed seats which were now unoccupied, but were presently to be filled with the best company that the east of the Island could provide.

Besides Gilbot, who appeared happily oblivious of all around him, four other persons sat in the Ship kitchen: two old men threw dice for pence in one corner, while in another, between two rum kegs, sat a girl. She was about twenty-three years of age, and, although her appearance was not of that uncommon type so marked in Anny Farran, yet she had a certain quiet comeliness and gentle expression which made her almost beautiful. At least the handsome young giant who lounged near her in an ecstasy of shyness appeared to think so, for he eyed her so intently, his mouth partly open, that she was forced to pay more attention to the garment she was patching than was strictly necessary. They sat in perfect silence for some ten minutes before the young man plucked up courage to speak. When he did, his voice came uncomfortably from his throat, and he reddened to the roots of his hair.

“I reckon I’ll be going up west now, Mistress Sue,” he said, as he half rose to his feet and looked toward the door.

“Oh!”—there was a note of real regret in the girl’s voice—“must you go so early, Master French?”

Big French sat down again quickly.

“Nay,” he said shortly, and there was silence again for another minute or so.

She stitched busily the while.

“Is it great business you have in the west, Master French?” she said at last, her eyes still on her work.

French discovered suddenly that it was easier to talk to her if she was not looking at him.

“Ay,” he said. “Black’erchief Dick will get in to-morrow.”

Sue sighed.

“Ah!” she said, “you have a fine life, Master French, travelling to and fro the way you do.”

Big French beamed delightedly.

“Ay,” he said, “a fine life, but dangerous,” he added quickly, “very dangerous.”

The girl looked at him appraisingly.

“But you are so strong, Master French, what have you to fear from footpads—you’re in more danger from pretty wenches, I warrant,” she said, as she shot a sidelong glance at him.

French reddened and smiled sheepishly; then he suddenly grew grave and his gray eyes regarded her earnestly.

“Wenches? Mistress Sue,” he said, “nay! One wench—that’s all.”

It was Sue’s turn to redden now and she did so very charmingly, and French, noting her confusion, immediately bethought him of his own, and he sat fidgeting, his eyes on the tips of his untanned leather boots.

“I’ll be forth to Tiptree market this week if Black’erchief Dick’s brought aught but rum from Brest,” he said at last, “and if there be aught you may be wanting from thence, Mistress——?” His voice trailed off on the question as he studied his boot-toe attentively.

She smiled as she laid a brown hand on his arm, thereby causing him much nervous disquietude.

“Come back before you go—er—Ezekiel”—Big French started pleasurably at the sound of his Christian name—“and if I have bethought me of aught we need from Tiptree, I will be glad if you will get it for me,” she said.

Big French took the hand that was resting on his sleeve in one big fist and his other arm slid round the girl’s waist unhindered.

“Sue,” he said softly, “will ye——”

sang Gilbot, suddenly waking up from the doze he had fallen into. “Shue,” he called, “more rum, lass.”

The girl jumped up to obey him, and Big French swore softly under his breath.

Two or three seamen entered the kitchen at this moment, and, after saluting Gilbot, called for drinks and settled themselves in the high-backed seats on either side of the fire. They began to talk noisily of their own affairs.

Sue opened an inner door and called for more lights. Gilbot, happy with his rum, continued to sing.

Big French rose slowly to his feet. He was an enormous figure, some six feet five inches tall and proportionately broad; his face as the light from the dripping candles fell on it showed clearly cut and very handsome. He wore his hair long and his chin had never been shaved, so that his beard was as silky as his hair, curly and of the colour of clear honey. He walked over to the door after exchanging greetings with the rowdy crew at the fireside, and lifted the latch. On the threshold he was met by Hal and Anny.

They had walked briskly, and the cool air had brought the colour to the girl’s face and, as she stood there, the men at the fireside, instead of clamouring for the door to be shut and the draught stayed, sat looking at her in silent admiration.

Hal Grame, standing just behind her, was the first to speak. He stepped forward, shutting the door behind him.

“Black’erchief Dick, aboard the Coldlight, will be putting into the Creek inside of an hour,” he said.

Big French looked at him for a moment.

“Black’erchief Dick coming here?” he said at last.

Sue came forward to listen, and several men left the fireplace and joined the little group near the door.

“Ay,” said Hal, “he couldn’t get down the fleet with the tide like this.”

“Ah!” said French.

“He couldn’t rest in the Channel for twelve hours or so, now could he?” continued Hal.

“Ah, you’re right there, lad,” said one of the men, pressing forward. “Black’erchief Dick would risk most things, but he’s no fool.”

Big French scratched his head thoughtfully.

“Ah,” he said slowly, “he’s no fool, that’s right enough.” Then he looked at Sue furtively out of the corner of his eye. “He’ll be coming up here I reckon,” he said.

Sue shrugged her shoulders.

“Well,” she said, “we’ve rum enough for any foreigner, and, if we ain’t as fine as the Victory, our liquor’s as good.”

“Eh, what’s that?” Old Gilbot pricked up his ears, the pewter-pot halfway to his lips. “Not as fine as the Victory, lass? Who says we ain’t as fine as the Victory, any day? Eh? Anywaysh,” he added, his face hidden in the nearly empty tankard, “anywaysh, we’ve prettier wenches.”

“You’re right, host—here, rum all round and drink to the wenches.” Big French, his hand in his breeches pocket, spoke loudly and the coins jingled as he planked them down on the table, and the two girls hastened to draw the rum.

“The wenches!” shouted French, one big foot on the form and his tankard held high above his head.

“The wenches!” roared the company.

“The wenches!” piped Gilbot happily from his corner.

This pleasant ceremony took some minutes, and Sue and Anny stood together smiling at each other, neither giving a thought to the little dark-skinned, white-handed Spaniard who was sailing under full canvas toward their home.

“I’ll go down to the hard to meet Black’erchief,” said French at last, wiping his beard with a green handkerchief.

“I’ll with you.” “And I.” “And I.” Most of the company rose and followed the young Goliath to the door.

“Goo’-bye,” said Gilbot, waving his pot. “Come back soon.”

The men laughed and promised.

“The owd devil,” said one man to another as he shut the door behind them. “The owd devil hasn’t been sober these four years.” And they went off laughing.

“What manner of fellow is that they call Black’erchief Dick’?” said Anny, as she collected the empty tankards from the tables.

“A devil,” said one of the men at the fireside.

“Oh!” Anny was not impressed. She had met many strangers who had been described to her as devils, and not one to her mind had lived up to the description.

“Oh!” said Hal, as he piled fresh logs in the open grate. “’Tis only a foreigner, some Spanish dog or other.”

The man who had spoken before shook his head.

“Ah, you be careful, lad. Dick ain’t the chap to make a foe of in a hurry,” he said.

Anny paused for a moment.

“Is he a big man, sir?” she asked.

Sue interposed quickly.

“Not as big as Master French, I reckon,” she said defiantly.

The man laughed.

“Big as French?” he said. “Lord! he ain’t no bigger than you, Anny.”

“Oh!” the two girls looked at one another and laughed.

“Marry, I reckon he’s a devil without horns then, Master Granger,” said Sue.

Granger spat before he spoke again.

“I don’t know about horns, Mistress,” he said, “but I reckon his knife is good enough for him—ah, and for me, too, for that matter,” he added.

Anny laughed again.

“’Twould not be enough for me anyway,” she said, fixing a stray curl over her ear as she spoke.

Sue looked at her strangely. It was impossible not to like this beautiful wild little creature, in whom her uncle, Gilbot, had taken such an interest. Yet she could not help wishing that the younger girl had been more careful. She was so young, so very beautiful, and the company which came to the Ship was not the best in the world.

Sue shrugged her shoulders. It was not her business, she told herself, but her eyes followed Anny almost pityingly as the little maid moved across the room to speak to Gilbot.

“Master Gilbot,” Anny said, “should we prepare a bedchamber for the gentleman?”

Old Gilbot looked at her over the rim of the tankard; then he took one of her hands.

“Thou art a pretty wench, Anny,” he observed solemnly. “Will ’ee fetch me another stoup of liquor, lass?” he added, brightening up in anticipation.

Anny did as she was told and then repeated her question.

“Eh? Bedchamber? Eh? What?” said the old man, his brows screwed into knotted lines, and he seemed troubled; after a few minutes, however, “Oh! ashk Hal,” he said, his face clearing. “Ashk Hal everything.”

He looked across at the boy affectionately.

“Shly dog,” he murmured, “keepsh me in liquor all day long sho he can get the Ship. Ho-ho-ho!” he laughed, shaking all over. “Shly dog—shly dog.”

Hal laughed with him and then discussed with Anny and Sue the various arrangements for the reception of the visitors. Having settled everything to their satisfaction they joined the group about the fire, where the talk was still running on the Spaniard.

“Wonderful fighter,” one man was saying. “Oh, a wonderful fighter, take my word for it.”

“Ah, you’re right,” said another. “I saw him kill a man with a knife throw one time. From right the other side of the room it was. That was in a house in Brest, in ’59,” he added reminiscently.

“How old do you reckon him?” said the first man curiously. “I’ve not known him more’n a year or so.”

“Well,” the other man’s tone was dubious. “He says he’s thirty and I shouldn’t say more. No, I shouldn’t say so much—though it’s wonderful the way he manages them foreign dogs he mans his brig with.”

Hal joined in the conversation.

“They’re a rough lot, I expect,” he said.

The men round the fire laughed.

“You’re right there, lad,” said one. “Keep your eye on the rum and lasses to-night. Wonderful rough lot they are,” he added. “Oh, wonderful rough!”

Hal flushed.

“I reckon the lasses can look after theirselves,” he said gruffly.

Anny put her hand on his shoulder.

“Ay,” she said, “maybe we can, but where’s the need of us troubling when you’re by?”

“Bravo, Anny, lass. The girl has wit as well as beauty,” said the man addressed as Granger from his seat in the chimney corner, whence he had moved to make room for Sue.

“Ay, a fine wench,” said Gilbot, waking for a moment; the others laughed and the talk continued cheerily.

“Evening to you all.” The speaker was a man dressed in the usual fisherman’s guernsey and breeches. He stood in the doorway, looking in on the company round the fire and smiling affably.

Hal looked up quickly and seeing who it was rose at once to meet him.

“Evening, Joe,” he said cheerily. “Come, sit down; what’ll you drink?”

Joseph Pullen smiled and took the seat offered him, and named his choice.

Anny was up in a moment to serve him, and his eyes followed her as she flitted hither and thither, with a smile for one and a jest for another, laughing happily the while. He looked across at Hal.

“Ah, you’re a lucky one, mate,” he observed in a hoarse whisper.

The boy smiled.

“Amy been at you again?” he enquired.

It was well known that Joe and his wife, Amy, were not a happy couple.

The other looked round him.

“She’s a shrew and no mistake, Hal,” he said softly.

Hal laughed.

“You’re right,” he said. “But cheer thyself,” he added, as Anny brought a tankard. “Look’ee, Joe, did ever you set eyes on a man called Black’erchief Dick?”

“I did that”—Joe’s face appeared red above the pot—“and I set eyes on one of his mange-struck crew as well,” he said fiercely.

“Ah, and who might that be?” Granger inquired.

“A black-bearded old Spanish villain called Blueneck. Yes, and what’s more, I set eyes on him kissing my wife.”

A roar of laughter greeted this outburst, and Joe looked discomforted.

“I stopped it, of course,” he remarked.

Another roar shook the building. Joe reddened again.

“I don’t see why you’re a-laughing,” he said gruffly.

The men round the fire laughed again.

“I can manage my wife better nor any man here and I’m willing to prove it with these,” he said, putting up two bony fists.

The laughter died away and no one spoke for a moment or so. Then Joe, all his anger vanished as suddenly as it had come, remarked, “Black’erchief Dick, eh? Where did you hear of him? I didn’t know he ever came up east.”

“Nor don’t he as a rule,” said Hal, “but he has had to put in here owing to the tide. I reckon he’ll be up here soon.”

“Ah, will he now?” Joe’s eyebrows rose expressively, then he put down his mug. “Did you say he was putting in here—crew and all?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

“Ay,” said Hal, “I reckon so.”

“Ah,” said Joe again, “I’ll be going back to home,” he announced suddenly.

Then, as some knowing smiles appeared on the faces in the firelight, he added, “Ah, you can laugh, but take my word for it, you keep your wenches clear of Spaniards. They have wonderful ways with women.” He walked to the door. “See you afore the night’s over, Hal,” he called cheerily as he went out.

Under cover of the laughter which burst out as he shut the door behind him, Anny whispered to Hal, who was making up the fire, “I would not change thee for the King o’ the Spaniards, lad,” and he, turning suddenly to look at her, knew that she spoke truth.