A LITTLE more than an hour after Joe Pullen and little Red Farren left the cottage, Mistress Amy sat by the fireside, sewing. The five children were asleep upstairs and everything was quiet. Opposite her in the chimney corner, his heavy rain-sodden boots smoking in the heat, sat Blueneck, his unshaven chin resting in his hands. On the table lay the woollen cap and heavy coat which he had thrown off on entering. The water which dripped off the skirts of the coat made a little puddle on the clean red and yellow bricks of the floor.

“You’re a kind man, Master Blueneck, to come trudging all this way in the soaking rain to cheer a poor woman whose husband is too surly to tell her of the doings of the Island,” said the lady, looking up from her mending, after a silence of a few minutes.

“Ah, seÑora.”

Mistress Pullen blushed with pleasure at the sound of the foreign address.

“Where on the Island is better company than yourself?” said the sailor gallantly, leaning a little forward so that the firelight played on the brass earrings that shone amongst the short oily curls hanging down the sides of his face.

Mistress Pullen giggled and applied herself industriously to her needlework.

“I warrant me you’re not so well served at the Ship as you were at the Victory, Master Blueneck?” she said without looking up.

Blueneck laughed bitterly.

“You’re right, mistress,” he said, forgetting the “seÑora” to Amy’s disappointment. “The Ship is none so bad a tavern, as taverns are nowadays, but ’tis of a truth much inferior to the Victory.”

“I wonder that the Captain rests him there then?” said Mistress Amy, glancing under her lashes at her visitor.

“Marry, so do I.” Blueneck’s tone was almost querulous. “Why look you, mistress,” he added, “is it not bad for our trade for us to tarry so long at one place, ay, more especially when ’tis here in the East where the creeks are as unknown to us as to the excise men themselves?”

“Of a truth ’tis bad indeed,” Mistress Pullen spoke with conviction. “I wonder the Captain has it so,” she remarked again glancing sideways at him.

Blueneck looked into the fire for a moment before he spoke. “Methinks the Captain is bewitched,” he said at last.

“Bewitched!” Mistress Amy, her thoughts flying at once to her other visitor of the evening, spoke in some alarm.

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders.

“Anyway, I never saw him so before,” he said, “and I’ve sailed aboard his ship these ten years.”

“But whoever would bewitch him?” asked Mistress Pullen, looking up innocently, as though no hint of the affairs of the Ship had reached her.

“A marvellous pretty wench,” said Blueneck, and then he added hastily, “but of no comparison with thee, seÑora.”

Mistress Amy laughed.

“’Tis a flatterer you are,” she said, “but I never heard of a pretty wench of the Ship, Master Blueneck; will she be one of the Island girls?”

Blueneck looked up.

“Ay,” he said, “’tis a lass called Anny Farran.”

“Oh!” Mistress Pullen’s eyebrows rose, and she pursed up her lips. “That child!”

Blueneck looked at her curiously.

“Hast heard aught against the lass?” he asked.

Amy looked about her carefully, then leaning a little forward opened her mouth as though to speak, but as though another thought had crossed her mind she drew back and, shaking her head, said piously, “But who am I to take away a poor slut’s character? ’Tis not my nature, and I pray you, Master Blueneck, that you will not urge me, for my very conscience revolts against it.” She paused. “Though, mind you, I could an I would,” she went on, “but then, as I said, the story will do the lass no good.”

“You make me curious, seÑora,” said the sailor in his best manner.

But Mistress Pullen for a very good reason, namely, that she could not think of a convincing story on the spot, was not to be prevailed on, and the conversation flagged for a time. At last she broke the silence.

“Then the Captain of the Coldlight is much attracted by this—this, this wench?” she asked.

“Attracted!” Blueneck looked up excitedly. “I tell you, mistress, I never saw him so before—of course, you will understand, seÑora, there have been other women—how could there not be? But never has it been so that he has lost his delight in the trade. No,” he added, “it has not been like this these last ten years, and before then he was but a lad. Without doubt the maid has bewitched him.”

Mistress Pullen began to be interested.

“Have there been very many other women who loved the gallant Captain?” she said, her respect for the Spaniard growing at every word.

Blueneck threw up his hands.

“So many, mistress, I could not name them all.”

Mistress Amy thrilled with interest, but her face fell at her next thought.

“And now he is enamoured with an Island wench?” she said, feeling that the Captain had somehow lowered his standard of romance.

“Ay,” said Blueneck, “but ’tis a new affair this time; before, it was the wenches who sighed for the Captain and the Captain who laughed and was merry, but this time it is the wench who is merry and the Captain”—he laughed—“oh, the Captain is bewitched,” he said.

“Indeed!” Mistress Pullen looked surprised. “I wonder that Mistress Sue would brook the affair in her uncle’s house.”

“Ho! ho! ho!” Blueneck laughed, his earrings glittering in the firelight. “Mistress Sue? Why, Mistress Amy, that lass would give her ears to get a fair look from Black’erchief Dick. I warrant you Master French is well-nigh mad at her neglect.”

Mistress Pullen sighed at the waywardness of youth and went on with her sewing.

“Ah, and that’s another thing,” said Blueneck. “Did you know that Master French was prevented from going to Tiptree last Tuesday?”

“Prevented! Were there excise men on the Stroud?” Mistress Amy spoke quickly, voicing the fear of all the Island smugglers.

The Stroud, a narrow, bridge-like road across the mud, was the one connection the Island had with the mainland, and once the officers of the law held it, there was no telling what dangers would be involved.

Blueneck smiled.

“Nay,” he said, “they will be as foolish as ever they were. Nay, there was some talk about the goods, and the Captain swore that he would not rest another night at the Victory, and that if Master French wanted aught from him he must come to the Ship and fetch it. So he had to return.”

“Indeed, and when will he be going again, Master Blueneck, for I was wishing to get me a piece of ribbon for my new kirtle-top?” said Mistress Pullen, her interest reviving.

The Spaniard looked at her, smiling. “Would you allow me to get it for you, seÑora?” he said in as exact imitation as he could manage of the Captain’s manner.

Mistress Amy looked at him in surprise.

“Why, surely you’re not going to Tiptree, Master Blueneck, are you?” she said.

“I would go to London, if you wished aught from thence, mistress,” said the sailor loftily.

Amy looked at him in admiration. “If only Joe would speak so,” she reflected.

The sailor, seeing the impression he had made, rose to his feet, narrowly escaping the chimney beam.

“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall ride to Tiptree and bring the fairest dame in the Island a ribbon.” He reached for his cap and coat, and buttoning them on, made for the door.

Amy followed him, thanking him. They exchanged farewells, Mistress Pullen blushingly consenting to a kiss, and parted.

As soon as his footsteps had died away, Mistress Pullen slipped a cloak over her head and moved to the window, through which she could see a faint patch of light about two hundred yards away.

“Ah!” she said to herself, “Joan Bellamie will be yet awake, what a deal I have to tell the ronyon.” And she slipped out, shutting the door behind her.