“Ah!” exclaimed Eunez Pareta to Johnny Lark, the Seamew’s cook.  “So you know she of the evil eye, eh?”

“What do you mean?” asked Johnny.  “That pretty girl who rides behind Captain Latham?”

“Si!”

“She has no evil eye,” declared the cook stoutly.

“It is told me that she has,” said the smiling girl.  “And she has put what you call the ‘hoodoo’ on that schooner.  She come down in her from Boston.”

“What of it?” retorted the cook.  “She is a fine lady—­and a pretty lady.”

“So Tunis Latham think—­heh?” demanded Eunez fiercely.

“And why not?” grinned Johnny.

“Bah!  Has not all gone wrong with that Seamew ever since she sail in the schooner?” demanded the girl.  “An anchor chain breaks; a rope parts; you lost a topmast—­yes?  How about Tony?  Has he not left and will not return aboard the schooner for a price?  Do you not find calm where other schooners find fair winds?  Ah!”

“Pooh!” ejaculated Johnny Lark.  “Old woman’s talk!”

“Not!” cried the girl hotly.  “It is a truth.  The saints defend us from the evil eye!  And Tunis Latham is under that girl’s spell.”

Johnny Lark tried to laugh again, but with less success.  Many little things had marred the fair course of the Seamew and her captain’s business.  He, however, shook his head.

“Not that pretty girl yonder,” he said, “has brought bad luck to the Seamew.  No, no!”

“What, then?” asked Eunez, staring sidewise at him from eyes which seemed almost green.

“See!” said Johnny, seizing her wrist.  “If the Seamew is a Jonahed schooner, it is because of something different.  Yes!”

“Bah!” cried Eunez, yet with continued eagerness.  “Tell me what it may be if it is not that girl with the evil eye?”

“Ask ’Rion Latham,” whispered Johnny.  “You know him—­huh?”

The Portygee girl looked for a moment rather taken aback.  Then she said, tossing her head: 

“What if I do know ’Rion?”

“Ask him,” repeated Johnny Lark.  “He is cousin of our captain.  He knows—­if anybody knows—­what is the trouble with the Seamew.”  And he shook his head.

Eunez stared at him.

“You know something you do not tell me, Juan?”

“Ask ’Rion Latham,” the cook said again, and left her at the door of the church.

* * * * *

Those swains who had been “cluttering the course”—­to quote Cap’n Ira—­did not interfere in any way with the Balls’ equipage on this Sunday at the church.  There was none who seemed bold enough to enter the lists with Tunis Latham.  He put Queenie in the shed and backed her out again and brought her around to the door when the service was ended without having to fight for the privilege.

’Rion Latham, however, was the center of a group of young fellows who were all glad to secure a smile and bow from the girl, but who only sheepishly grinned at Tunis.  ’Rion was not smiling; there was a settled scowl upon his ugly face.