“O--L,” spelled Otie--“O--L--_Olenia_. Must be a local pilot aboard. None of them New York spiffer captains could find Saturday Cove through the feather-tide that's outside just now.” “Well, whether they can or whether they can't isn't of any interest to me,” stated the skipper, with fine indifference. “I'd hate to be in a tight place and have to depend on one of them gilded dudes! I smell supper. Come on!” He was a little uncertain as to what demeanor he ought to assume below, but he clumped down the companion-way with considerable show of confidence, and Otie followed. The captain cast a sharp glance at his daughter. He had been afraid that he would find her crying, and he did not know how to handle such cases with any certainty. But she had dried her eyes and she gave him no very amiable look--rather, she hinted defiance. He felt more at ease. In his opinion, any person who had spirit enough left for fight was in a mood to keep on enjoying life. “Perhaps I went a mite too far, Polly,” he admitted. He was mild, but he preserved a little touch of surliness in order that she might not conclude that her victory was won. “But seeing that I brought you off to sea to get you away from flirting--” “Don't you dare to say that about me!” She beat her round little fist on the table. “Don't you dare!” “I don't mean that you ever done it! The dudes done it! I want to do right by you, Polly. I've been to sea so long that I don't know much about ways and manners, I reckon. I can't get a good line on things as I ought to. I'm an old fool, I reckon.” His voice trembled. “But it made me mad to have you stram up there on deck and call me names before 'em.” She did not reply. “I have always worked hard for you--sailing the seas and going without things myself, so that you could have 'em--doing the best I could ever after your poor mother passed on.” “I am grateful to you, father. But you don't understand a girl--oh, you don't understand! But let's not talk about it any more--not now.” “I ain't saying to-night--I ain't making promises! But maybe--we'll see how things shape up--maybe I'll send you back home. Maybe it 'll be to-morrow. We'll see how the stage runs to the train, and so forth!” “I am going to leave it all to you, father. I'm sure you mean to do right.” She served the food as mistress at the board. “It seems homelike with you here,” said Captain Can-dage, meekly and wistfully. “I will stay with you, father, if it will make you happier.” “I sha'n't listen to anything of the sort. It ain't no place aboard here for a girl.” Through the open port they heard the frequent clanging of the steam-yacht's engine-room bell and the riot of her swishing screws as she eased herself into an anchorage. She was very near them--so near that they could hear the chatter of the voices of gay folk. “What boat is that, father?” “Another frosted-caker! I can't remember the name.”