something of seamanship, the Josephine, a very marvel of graceful lines and intricate rigging. Such loving, patient care as had gone into the building of the little craft only those two would ever know. The Captain’s rough thick fingers had worked wonders; Billy’s impatient, unskilled ones had done their full share. The two had had long talks together over their labours, in which the boy had learned much of odd sounding names and strange sea terms, but more of the adventures and hardships and restlessness of the life of those who follow the sea.
He did not admit to himself yet that he liked the sea, or that he was anything but disappointed and angry that he must spend his summer on the Island of Appledore, but he could not deny that there was a charm in the company of the old captain and that his stories of all that happened off this bit of rugged, rocky coast; of the smugglers that had hidden in the little harbour below the mill, of the privateers that had lain behind the island waiting until the enemy should pass, of the wrecks and daring rescues by the fishermen of the Island, all these were tales of which he never tired. He was full of questions to
