“Who art thou, child?—­and who has sent thee hither?” demanded Ludlow.  The boy raised a cap of the same rose-colored silk, and pointed to an image of a female, with a swarthy face and a malign smile, painted, with exceeding art, on its front.

“I serve the sea-green lady, with the others of the brigantine.”

“And who is this lady of the color of shallow water, and whence come you, in particular?”

“This is her likeness—­if you would speak with her, she stands on the cut-water, and rarely refuses an answer.”

“’Tis odd that a form of wood should have the gift of speech!”

“Dost think her then of wood?” returned the child, looking timidly, and yet curiously, up into the face of Ludlow.  “Others have said the same; but those who know best, deny it.  She does not answer with a tongue, but the book has always something to say.”

“Here is a grievous deception practised on the superstition of this boy!  I have read the book, and can make but little of its meaning.”

“Then read again.  ’Tis by many reaches that the leeward vessel gains upon the wind.  My master has bid me bring you in—­”

“Hold—­Thou hast both master and mistress?—­You have told us of the latter, but we would know something of the former.  Who is thy master?”

The boy smiled and looked aside, as if he hesitated to answer.

“Nay, refuse not to reply.  I come with the authority of the Queen.”

“He tells us that the sea-green lady is our Queen and that we have no other.”

“Rashness and rebellion!” muttered Myndert:  “but this foolhardiness will one day bring as pretty a brigantine as ever sailed in the narrow seas, to condemnation; and then will there be rumors abroad, and characters cracked, till every lover of gossip in the Americas shall be tired of defamation.”

“It is a bold subject, that dares say this!” rejoined Ludlow, who heeded not the by-play of the Alderman; “Your master has a name?”

“We never hear it.  When Neptune boards us, under the tropics, he always hails the ‘Skimmer of the Seas,’ and then they answer.  The old God knows us well, for we pass his latitude oftener than other ships, they say.”

“You are then a cruiser of some service, in the brigantine—­no doubt you have trod many distant shores, belonging to so swift a craft.”

“I!—­I never was on the land!” returned the boy, thoughtfully.  “It must be droll to be there; they say, one can hardly walk, it is so steady!  I put a question to the sea-green lady before we came to this narrow inlet, to know when I was to go ashore.”

“And she answered?”

“It was some time, first.  Two watches were past before a word was to be seen; but at last I got the lines.  I believe she mocked me, though I have never dared show it to my master, that he might say.”

“Hast the words, here?—­perhaps we might assist thee, as there are some among us who know most of the sea-paths.”