Wat turned his head and pretended not to hear. He was in no mood to barter windy compliments with Jack Scarlett, who on his part loved nothing better, save only wine and a pretty woman. The grave of the girl who had died for love of him was too new under the dunes of Lis; the fate of his own true-love too dark and uncertain. So soon, therefore, as it grew dusk enough, Wat and Scarlett betook themselves without further speech down to the little harbor, to see what might be obtained there in the way of a boat to convey them out of Holland. At first they had some thought of getting a fisherman to land them at Hamburg, whence it would be easy enough to take passage either to England or to Scotland, as they might decide. The town of Lis was small, and its harbor but a shallow basin into which at high-water half a dozen fishing-boats at most might enter. There were few people about the long, straggling, shoreward street, and there was none of the cheerful bustle and animation characteristic of a Dutch town at evening. For many of the men were away serving in the armies of the States-General, and most of the others were at the fishing off the banks of Texil. In the harbor itself they saw nothing to suit their purpose, and none at whom to ask a question. Nor did so much as a dog bark at them. But on the shingle outside of the harbor, at a place where a ledge of rock ran up out of the sea, with the waves gently washing one side of it, there was drawn up a ship's boat of moderate dimensions, and beside it, seated on the stern with his legs dangling over the painted name, lounged a curious-looking individual, smoking a short, small-bowled pipe. He was a youth, of years numbering somewhere between eighteen and thirty--of the sleek-faced, beardless sort that does not change much for twenty years. The most boundless self-sufficiency marked his appearance and attitude. When he saw Wat and Scarlett approach he rose lazily, stretched his long, lank legs, turned his back on them in a marked manner, and gazed seaward from under the level palm of his hand. "I bid you good-evening," said Scarlett, saluting Sir Stork as politely as if he had been the stadtholder of Lis; "can you tell us if in this town there are any boats that may be hired to take certain passengers to Rotterdam?" For they thought it well, in any bargaining, to give out that city as their port, and to change the destination after they had got to sea--by persuasion or by force of arms, if necessary. "That do I not," replied the unknown, promptly, in good English, though Scarlett had spoken in Dutch. "But the boat upon which you are leaning?" pursued Scarlett, "is she not a vessel which a man may hire for a just price?" The lad took three draws of his pipe in a consequential way before answering. He tapped the bowl meditatively on his thigh.