“She looks like a handsome gypsy, with her dark face and that red thing in the firelight.  I wish I could paint her,” said Miss Scott, who was very young at heart in spite of her fifty years and gray head.

“So do I, but we can remember it.  I do like to see a girl work with a will, even at frying fish.  Most of ’em dawdle so at the few things they try to do.  There’s a piece of energy for you!” and Captain John leaned forward from his rocky seat to watch Ruth, who just then caught up the coffee-pot about to boil over, and with the other hand saved her frying-pan from capsizing on its unsteady bed of coals.

“She is a nice girl, and I’m much interested in her.  Mr. Wallace says he will tell us her story by-and-by if we care to hear it.  He has known the old man a long time.”

“Don’t forget to remind him, Aunty.  I like a yarn after mess;” and Captain John went off to bring the first plate of fish to the dear old lady who had been a mother to him for many years.

It was a merry supper, and the moon was up before it ended; for everything “tasted so good” the hearty young appetites sharpened by sea air were hard to satisfy.  When the last cunner had vanished and nothing but olives and oyster crackers remained, the party settled on a sloping rock out of range of the fire, and reposed for a brief period to recover from the exertions of the feast, having, like the heroes in the old story, “eaten mightily for the space of an hour.”

Mr. Fred in the capacious boots was a never-failing source of amusement, and consequently somewhat subdued.  But Miss Ellery consoled him, and much food sustained him till his shoes were dry.  Ruth remained to clear up, and Sammy to gorge himself on the remnants of “sweet cake” which he could not bear to see wasted.  So, when some one proposed telling stories till they were ready to sing, Mr. Wallace was begged to begin.

“It is only something about this island, but you may like to hear it just now,” said the genial old gentleman, settling his handkerchief over his bald head for fear of cold, and glancing at the attentive young faces grouped about him in the moonlight.

“Some twenty years ago there was a wreck over there on those great rocks; you fellows have heard about it, so I’ll only say that a very brave sailor, a native of the Port here, swam out with a rope and saved a dozen men and women.  I’ll call him Sam.  Well, one of the women was an English governess, and when the lady she was with went on her way after the wreck, this pretty girl (who by the way was a good deal hurt trying to save the child she had in charge) was left behind to recover, and—­”

“Marry the brave sailor of course,” cried one of the girls.