They scraped along past the spiles of the wharf and then dexterous strokes of the stubby oars kept them practically motionless under the wharf’s planking, close to one spile. “What on earth is that?” the passenger queried, and put out his hand to the post. He grasped a watersoaked kitten, clinging desperately to the slippery wood, and too exhausted to mew. “A cat!” the American ejaculated. “I didn’t know you had cats in this country. The city is knee-deep in dogs, but I haven’t seen a cat since I came.” “I guess he fall overboard from that Englis’ bark, what jus’ tow out,” Joao said serenely. “That captain he got his wife too, an’ I see some little cat along the children.” The kitten was coal black, not a white hair on it, and very wet. Henderson dried it with a handkerchief and warmed it inside of his jacket. Presently Joao said: “Macedo’s boat gone roun’ Sacco d’Alferes. I don’ see Macedo. You bett’ not go back.” “Go round to the Red Steps, then,” came the indulgent answer. They rowed past the ends of the long piers, all black with shouting men in long lines, each with a sack of coffee on his head, or hurrying back for another. Then they bumped through a pack of boats of all kinds and Henderson stepped out upon the worn and mortarless stones. Joao nodded and was off without any exchange of money. The morning was a very beautiful one and this was the landing most frequented always. At the top of the steps John paused in a whirl of feelings. Before him stood Millicent Wareham in a very pretty yachting suit, and she was accompanied only by her maid. She was looking alternately back toward the custom-house and out over the bay. Secure in the fellow-feeling of exiles for each other he stepped up and greeted her. She looked startled but a moment and then her face lit with an expression of real pleasure and she held out her hand. They had not had a real conversation since childhood and yet she began as if she had seen him yesterday: “I am so surprised. I had no idea you were here. We came only last week. That is our yacht out there. When did you come?” John looked once only at the yacht, but keenly enough never to mistake it afterwards, and answered: “I have been here a long time. I am on business, not pleasure.” “We may be here some time, too. I like this part of the world and we mean to go all round South America.” John wondered who “we” might be. He knew her father was dead and he had heard of the breaking off of her betrothal to a titled European. It was her brother she was with, likely enough, but he hoped it might be some party of friends instead. “You’ll like it all if you like this,” he answered. “But I certainly am astonished to see you. Few Americans come here as you have. And the odd thing is that I was just thinking of you, too.” She looked at him with an expression he remembered well from her girlhood, and smiled banteringly: “You mustn’t say that. You know you don’t really mean it. You are just being complimentary.”