"A dock hand at Detour,--and as foine a b'y as ye cud wush to see." Then with a very conscious look on her honest face, "And what Michael Callaghan wuddent do for Norah Brannigan--why, mem, it can't be done! Now, set down here on the berth, darlint, and let me tell ye me plan." * * * * * As the _Paxton_ made the landing at Detour Bess and John Harcourt stood on deck just above the gangway and watched the scene with interest, though it must be confessed that Bess had many disturbing qualms of conscience at enjoying anything while Margaret, shut up in her stateroom, was in such straits. She felt that she ought to go and share her isolation, but Mr. Harcourt had pointed out that if Smeltzer happened to be sauntering around it would be better for it to appear that they were not on their guard. He convinced her that there would be ample time for conference and sympathy after they left Detour, and she might as well see what was to be seen there. There is something very fascinating about watching a boat's unloading at a country landing, and in the end she yielded and stayed, compounding with her conscience by a vow to go the minute the boat started again. Detour is on the west side of St. Mary's River and has an unusually broad dock with a warehouse at the right, and another much farther back on the left. This makes a broad frontage which was unbroken that day by even a goods-box or a barrel. If Norah Brannigan was hoping to hide her proteges behind a chance pile of lumber or the usual impedimenta of a dock, there seemed scant hope for her here. Detour had all the time there was, and used it in taking care of her freight. The road trailed off up the hill where was "the store," a blacksmith's shop, and a somewhat pretentious hotel. On the dock lounged half a dozen men who enlivened the time of waiting by sparring with one another. A coil of rope was thrown out to one of them who caught it with a dextrous hand. In a moment the great cable was over the post and the _John A. Paxton_ crunching against the timbers of the dock. Then the gangway was shoved out and the passengers were going off. "How many do you say will get off?" said Harcourt. "Quick!" "Oh,--twenty." "Twenty! I'll say four--caramels against a cigar." "All right!" One man followed by a dog had already stepped ashore. A country woman, in a blue calico with a dejected looking back and a sunbonnet, followed, and then a half-grown boy. That was all. The dock hands brought out a couple of plows, a crated sewing machine, and a white iron bedstead with brass knobs. Then they went aboard and reappeared in a minute with a line of wheelbarrows loaded with soap boxes, nail kegs, etc. Detour evidently bought by the small quantity. "Are the passengers all gone?" asked Bess, incredulously. "Surely that isn't all." "That's all. I've won as usual." "You didn't win! You said four and there were only three." "Four!" "Three. Just three."