“Come all ye hardy fishermen
      An’ harken to me song,
    O’ how the mermaid from the wrack
      Come ashore in Chance Along.

“Her eyes was like the sea in June,
Her lips was like a rose,
Her voice was like a fairy bell
A-ringin’ crost the snows.

“The Skipper he forgot the wrack,
Forgot the waves a-rollin’,
For she had put the witchy spell
On Skipper Dennis Nolan.

* * * * *

“Come all ye hardy fishermen
An’ larn from this me song,
To turn yer eyes the other way
To the girls from up-along.”

“Yer songs get more foolish every day, father dear,” said Mary.

“Sure, Pat, Mary bes right,” said Leary.  “Ye sings as if the girls in Chance Along hadn’t so much as one eye in the heads o’ the entire crew o’ them.  Now I bes t’inkin’ as how there bes a girl in this harbor wid eyes an’ lips——­”

“Sure, Nick, yer thoughts bes no better nor father’s songs,” interrupted Mary.

CHAPTER XIII

BILL BRENNEN PREACHES LOYALTY

Black Dennis Nolan was permitted an interview with Miss Flora Lockhart in the afternoon following his return to Chance Along.  The singer was sitting up in a chair by the fire, wrapped about in her own silk dressing-gown, which had been brought ashore from the wreck, and in an eiderdown quilt.  Her plentiful, soft, brown hair was arranged in a manner new to Chance Along, and stuck through with a wonderful comb of amber shell and gold, and a pin with a jewelled hilt.  The ornaments for the hair had been supplied by Mother Nolan, who had possessed them for the past thirty years, hidden away in the bottom of a nunney-bag.  Her own son, the late skipper, had salvaged them from a wreck.  Flora had her own rings on her tapering fingers.  There was color in her flawless cheeks, her wonderful eyes were bright and clear, and her lips were red.  She smiled at the skipper when Mother Nolan ushered him into the room.

“It was very, very kind of you to take my letter all the way to the post-office with your own hand,” she said.  Her bell-like voice was generous and sincere.  “I wish I could reward you for all you have done for me, Mr. Nolan.  But how can I—­except in my heart?  You are so rich and proud, I am afraid to offer you money.”  Here there was a playful note in her voice which the skipper detected.  So she was making fun of his wealth and his pride.  His dark face flushed with several disturbing emotions.  To be addressed by the title of “mister” added to his discomfort.  There were no misters in Chance Along—­or anywhere on the coast, except the Methodist preacher in Bay Bulls, away to the north.  He was skipper—­or just Denny Nolan.  He was skipper of Chance Along—­not a preacher and not the mate of a foreign-going ship.