“Eh?  What’s eating on you, Eunez?  I never stopped to think whether she was or not?”

But he flushed, and she saw it.  Eunez smiled in a way which might have puzzled Tunis Latham had he stopped to consider it.  But he joined the girl who was waiting for him, and they went on up the road and out of the town without his giving a backward glance or thought to the fiery Portygee girl.

When they mounted to the windswept headland the visitor looked about with glowing eyes, breathing deeply.  The flush of excitement rose in her cheek.  He knew that as far as the physical aspect of the place went, she was more rejoiced than ever she had expected to be.

“Beautiful—­and free,” she whispered.

“You’ve said it, now, Ida May,” he agreed.  “From up here it looks like the whole world was freer and a whole lot brighter.  It is a great outlook.”

“And is that the house?” the girl asked, for in approaching the Ball homestead from this angle it looked different from its appearance as viewed standing on the deck of the inbound Seamew.

“That is the Ball house, and Aunt Prue taking in her wash,” Tunis replied.  “I suppose she had John-Ed Williams’ wife over to wash for her, but Myra will have gone home before this to get the supper.  Tush!  Aunt Prue ought not to try to do that.”

The fresh wind blowing over the headland filled every garment on the lines like ballooning sails.  The frail, little old woman had to stand on tiptoe to get each article unpinned from the line.  The wind wickedly sought to drag the linen from her grasp.

Cap’n Ira, hobbling around from the front of the house, hailed his wife in some rancor: 

“I don’t see why you have to do that.  Don’t we pay that woman for washing them clothes?  And ain’t she supposed to take ’em down off’n the halyards?  I swan!  You’ll be inter that basket headfirst, yet, like ye was inter the grain chist.  Look out!”

“They wasn’t all dry when Myra Williams went home, Ira.  And I don’t dare leave ’em out all night.  Half of ’em would blow over the edge of the bluff.  The wind is terrible strong.”

It was much too strong for her frail arms, that was sure.  The captain turned in anger to look for help about the open common.  He saw the two figures briskly moving up the road toward the house.

“I swan!  Who’s this here?” he exclaimed.  “Tunis Latham, and—­and Ida May!”

His face broadened into a delighted smile.  He had seen the Seamew come in, and had prayerfully hoped her master had brought the girl that he believed would be their salvation.  This person with the captain of the Seamew could only be Ida May Bostwick!

At the moment Prudence was taking down her own starched, blue house dress from the line.  It was hung like a pirate in chains by its sleeves, was blown out as round as a barrel, and was as stiff as a board.  Just as the pins came out an extra heavy puff of wind shrieked around the corner of the house, as though it had been lying in wait for just this opportunity.