"We are a pudding without plums," he announced gaily, as he held the umbrella at an angle calculated to cause a waterspout in the crown of her hat--"not a lady on board. All we needed was a beautiful young person like you to liven us up. You haven't forgotten those pretty tunes you played for me last trip, have you?" Guinevere laughed, and shook her head. "That was just for you and the girls," she said. "Well, it'll be for me and the boys this time. I've got a nice lot of gentlemen on board, going down to your place, by the way, to buy up all your oil-lands. Now I know you are going to play for us if I ask you to." "My goodness! are they on this boat?" asked Guinevere, in a flutter. "I am so glad; I just love to watch city people." "Yes," said the captain; "that was Mr. Mathews talking to me as you came aboard--the one with the white beard. Everything that man touches turns to money. That glum-looking young fellow over there is his secretary. Hinton is his name; curious sort of chap." Guinevere followed his glance with eager interest. "The solemn one with the cap pulled over his eyes?" she asked. The captain nodded. "All the rest are inside playing cards and having a good time; but he's been moping around like that ever since they got on board. I've got to go below now, but when I come back, you'll play some for me, won't you?" Guinevere protested violently, but something within her whispered that if the captain was very insistent she would render the selection which had won her a gold medal at the last commencement. Slipping into the saloon, she dropped quietly into one of the very corpulent chairs which steamboats particularly affect, and, unobserved, proceeded to give herself up to the full enjoyment of the occasion. The journey from Coreyville to the Cove, in the presence of the distinguished strangers, had assumed the nature of an adventure. Giving her imagination free rein, Miss Gusty, without apology, transported the commonplace group of business men at the card-table into the wildest realms of romance. The fact that their language, appearance, and manner spoke of the city, was for her a sufficient peg upon which to hang innumerable conjectures. So deep was she in her speculations that she did not hear the captain come up behind her. "Where have you been hiding?" he asked in stentorian tones. "I was afraid you'd gotten out on deck and the wind had blown you overboard. Don't you think it's about time for that little tune? We are forty minutes late now, and we'll lose another half-hour taking on freight at Smither's Landing. I've been banking on hearing that little dance-piece you played for me before." "I can't play--before them," said Guinevere, nervously. The captain laughed. "Yes, you can; they'll like it. Mr. Mathews said something mighty pretty about you when you came on board."