it."
"I hope not, Miss, fer I don't want to git into any fix. It wouldn't look very nice if the papers got hold of this affair. Jist imagine a big write-up about Capt. Sam'l Tobin keepin' a fine lookin' runaway gal on the 'Eb an' Flo.' Why, I'd never be able to hold up me head agin, an' I guess it 'ud about break Martha's heart, to say nuthin' about Flo. They're mighty pertic'ler about sich things, they surely are."
"This must never get into the papers," the girl declared, "for you must promise that you will keep it a dead secret, and not tell anyone, not even your own family."
"I don't see how I kin do that, Miss. I guess ye don't know Martha as well as I do. If ye did, ye wouldn't talk about keepin' this racket a secret from me family. An' besides, thar's Eben, who'll be here in a jiffy now. How am I to explain matters to him? No, Miss, I reckon ye'd better light out while the coast is clear. I'll git the boy to take ye ashore, an' tell him that ye hit the wrong craft."
But the girl was not to be baffled in her purpose. She rose to her feet and stood before the captain. Her eyes were wide with a nameless fear, and her face showed very white where the light of the bracket-lamp fell upon it.
"Don't, don't send me away," she pleaded. "Let me stay here until you go from this place. Then you can put me ashore in the woods, or throw me overboard, I don't care which, but for the love of heaven let me stay now!"
Captain Samuel's big right hand dove suddenly into his pocket and clawed forth a clay pipe, a plug of tobacco, and a large jack-knife. He examined them carefully for a few seconds, the girl all the time watching him most intently.
"You will let me stay, won't you?" she coaxed. "Don't send me away."
"I don't see how I kin, Miss. Yer here, an' that's all thar is about it. Ye won't go of yer own accord, an' I've never yit laid hands on a woman. Now, if you was a man I'd show ye a thing or two in a jiffy, but what kin one do with a woman when she once makes up her mind?"
"Oh, thank you so much," and the girl's face brightened. "You will never regret your kindness to me. And look, I'm going to pay you well for letting me stay."
"Pay!" The captain's eyes bulged with astonishment.
"Yes, pay," and the girl smiled. "I'm a passenger, you see, so I'm going to pay my fare. There, you must not object, for I have made up my mind, so it's no use for you to say a word. I'm going to give you fifty dollars now and more later."
The pipe fell from the captain's hand and broke in two upon the floor.
"Blame it all!" he growled, as he stood staring upon the wreck. "I wonder what's comin' over me, anyway? Guess I'm losin' me senses."
"No you're not; you are just getting them, Captain. It's better to break a pipe than a girl's heart, isn't it?"
"I s'pose so, Miss. But a pipe means a good smoke, while a woman means——"
He paused, and looked helplessly around.
"What?" The girl's eyes twinkled.
"Trouble; that's what."
"But isn't she worth it?"
"That all depends upon what an' who she is."
"Certainly. Now you are talking sense. Isn't your daughter worth all the trouble she has been to you?"
"Sure, sure; yer sartinly right thar, Miss. Flo's given me a heap of trouble, but not half as much as Eben. That boy's a caution, an' he's given me an' Martha no end of worry."
"In what way?"
The captain scratched his head in perplexity, and shifted uneasily from one foot to another.
"I kin hardly explain," he at length replied. "He don't drink, nor swear, nor do nuthin' bad. But the trouble is, he don't do nuthin', an' don't want to do nuthin' but sleep an' eat."
"Perhaps you have not brought him up right, Captain."
"Not brought him up right!" Samuel's amazement was intense. "Why, Miss, we've done nuthin' but bring that boy up. Me an' Martha have slaved fer the raisin' of Eben. We started when he was a baby to raise him, right, an' the very next Sunday after he was born didn't they sing in church—
"'Here I'll raise my Ebenezer'."
"And so you've been singing it ever since, even when scrubbing the cabin?" The girl smiled at the recollection of the suddenly discontinued tune.
"Sure, why shouldn't I? It's a great hymn, it sartinly is, an' it's inspired me many a time. It has kept before me my duty, an' if Eben doesn't amount to somethin', it won't be my fault, nor Martha's, either, fer that matter."
"Have you taken the same care with your daughter?" the girl asked.
"No, not as much," was the reluctant confession. "Gals don't need sich special care. They ginerally grow up all right, an' git along somehow. But it's different with boys. They're a problem, they sartinly are."
"And so you have given most of your attention to your son, and let your daughter grow up any way. Is that it, Captain?"
"That's about it, Miss."
"And how is your daughter getting along?"
"Fust rate. We've no trouble with her. She's a good worker, happy an' cheerful as a bird, an' does what she's told. She's a fine gal, Flo is, an' thar's no mistake about that. I wish to goodness Eben was like her."
"It seems to me, Captain, that you tried too hard to raise your son, and spoiled him. Isn't that it?"
"D'ye think so?"
"I am sure of it. You are not the only ones who have spent all their care upon their sons and let their daughters grow up as they please. I know too much about it."
"Ye do!" Samuel's eyes opened wide in wonder. "An' you only a young gal, too."
"But I am old in experience, and know what I say is true. But what is that?" A startled look leaped into her eyes. "Do you suppose it is someone after me?"
With a bound the captain sprang up the stairs. He paused for an instant, however, and glanced back.
"Don't be scared, Miss," he encouraged. "It's only Eben. He's bumped hard aginst the boat. You keep close under cover, an' I'll do what I kin with the boy."
CHAPTER IV
UNDER COVER
By the time the captain reached the side of the boat, Eben had his small skiff tied to the deck-rail. He was standing up, a tall, gaunt, ungainly youth, freckled faced, and sandy haired. He wore a dark-brown sweater, and a pair of overalls, baggy at the knees. He did not speak as his father approached, but mechanically handed up to him a jug of molasses, and several paper parcels. He then leaped lightly upon deck, and headed for the cabin. But the captain detained him by laying a firm and heavy hand upon his shoulder.
"Keep out of thar," he ordered. "I've jist been scrubbin' an' don't want ye to dirty the place up."
The tone of his father's voice caused Eben to swing suddenly around.
"Me feet ain't dirty," he drawled. "An' s'pose they are, what's the difference? The cabin ain't no parler. Let me go; I'm most starved."
But the captain's grip increased as he yanked his son a few feet back.
"I'm in charge of this craft," he reminded, "an' what I say goes. Yer not goin' down into that cabin to-night, so jist make up yer mind to that fust as last."
The boy now stared in speechless amazement. Never before had he seen his father so agitated, nor heard him speak to him in such a manner.
"D'ye understand?" the captain asked.
"Understand