The skipper’s faith in his grandmother and Mary was great.  He soon schooled himself to stay away from the house for hours at a time, and give at least half his attention to the work of impressing the men with his mastery, and getting out lumber for the little church which Father McQueen was to build in June, on the barrens behind and above Chance Along.  The men felt and knew his touch of mastery.  They felt that this work at church-building was sure to lift any curse and devilment from the harbor, if such things had really been, and establish the skipper’s good luck for all time.  Dick Lynch, who still walked feebly, with a bandage about his head, was in bad repute with all of them, and more especially with the blood-kin of the young man whom he had knifed in the drunken fight over the gold.  But the youth who had been knifed, Pat Brennen by name, was in a fair way to recover from the wound, thanks to the skipper’s care and the surgical dressings from the Royal William’s medicine-chest.  So they worked well, ate well, clothed themselves in warm garments made by their womenfolk from the goods saved from the last wreck, and said with their undependable tongues, from the shallows of their undependable hearts, that Black Dennis Nolan was a great man and a terrible.  The spirit of distrust and revolt was dead—­or sound asleep, at least.

The hot poison of the fever in Flora Lockhart’s blood was drawn after days of ceaseless care and innumerable doses of quinine and brews of herbs and roots; but it left behind it a weakness of spirit and body, and a dangerous condition of chest and throat.  Mother Nolan and Mary Kavanagh saw that the fight was only half won, and neither of them laid aside their arms for a moment, though they changed their tactics.  Now the fire in the chimney was kept roaring more fiercely than ever, bottles of hot water were kept always in the bed, the blankets were heated freely, and hot broth and steaming spirits were given in place of the brews of roots and leaves.  The skipper and Cormick went far afield and succeeded in shooting several willow-grouse, and these Mother Nolan made into broth for Flora.  The best of everything that could be procured was hers.  She began to recover strength at last, and then each day brought improvement.  By this time she and Mary Kavanagh had warmed toward each other until a friendship was established.  Flora had thanked Mary beautifully, many times over, for her care, and had talked a great deal of herself and her ambitions.  She had told Mary and Mother Nolan the hardships and glories of her past and her great dreams for the future.  On the day that Mary was to go back to her father, Flora drew her down and kissed her fondly.

“You and Mother Nolan have saved my life,” she said, “and I am your friend—­yours especially, Mary—­forever and ever.  I shall prove my love and gratitude, you may be sure.  Out in the big world, Mary, I am somebody—­I have the power to do kindnesses and repay debts.  New York is full of fame and money, and a great deal of it is waiting for me.”