One morning the Arabel shot out of the snug little harbor of Lynn, with all sail set, the whole crew on board, and all their hidden treasures left in the sole care of Cathrin and the magic rattlesnake. But there was trouble brewing. Even then one of the king’s cruiser’s was out upon the watch for the little outlandish craft. They were well matched as to sailing, but the Britisher’s broadside soon swept away the fore-topmast of the Arabel. Then she was boarded, a hand-to-hand encounter ensued, and the pirates, instead of being subdued, triumphed, and took the others prisoners. This of course, was a flagrant, never-to-be-forgotton offence; but they kept on their way rejoicing, and at last met Harris at Wales. “Where is the little flower-girl?” he asked, as they sat discussing their business over the flowing wine. The men looked surprised, and Veale answered, “She is in the cave, your honor.” “At the cave!” repeated Harris. “Why! was she willing to go?” “I don’t know--that is--I didn’t ask her,” answered Veale, stammering at the thought of Harris’ displeasure. “Well,” Harris began, “this is worse than I thought would be laid at our door just yet. You _mean, low, detestable, contemptible wretch_!” he added, almost fiercely, turning to Veale, “do you know what you have done? actually stolen the only child of fondly-doting parents, and now trying to excuse yourself. I carried my mistress there, did I? But we were married first--married by the rites of a church she loved and revered; besides which, she left neither parents nor friends to mourn for her, and went because she wished to. I will return with you, Veale,” he continued, after a pause, “and bring the birdling back.” It was long before the Arabel again reached America, and when, at dead of night, the pirates landed and made their way to the Glen, they were unnoticed, for the colonists had grown weary with watching, and given up in despair. “Will you go home with me, Katy?” Harris said kindly, the next morning, as they reached the rock and commenced partaking of the provisions which the nimble fingers set before them. Tears came to her dancing black eyes, and she answered, firmly, “I am afraid to go, sir. Can you not bring my mother here?” Harris smiled, as he asked, “How old are you, Cathrin?” “Eighteen summers and nineteen winters, sir,” she replied, looking at him from under her long lashes. “Indeed!” said Harris, in surprise; “you look less than that.” A frightened, half-angry look passed her face, as she heard from the furthest end of the cave the heavy voice of Veale swearing at one of the men. “You are not used to profanity, poor child!” he continued, but she did not reply.