Priscilla leaped off her bicycle at the door of Bran-nigan’s shop. The men on the window sills took no notice of her. They were absorbed in watching the operation of warping round the head of a small steamer which lay far down the quay. The captain had run out a hawser and made the end of it fast to a buoy at the far side of the fair-way. A donkey-engine on the steamer’s deck was clanking vigorously, hauling in the hawser, swinging the head of the steamer round, a slow but deeply interesting manoeuvre. “Peter Walsh,” said Priscilla, “is that you?” “It is, Miss,” said Peter, “and it’s proud and pleased I am to see you home again.” “Is the Blue Wanderer ready for me?” “She is, Miss. The minute you like to step into her she’s there for you. There’s a new pair of rowlocks and I’ve a nice bit of rope for a halyard for the little lug. Is it it you have tied on the bicycle?” “It is,” said Priscilla, “and it’s a good sail, half as big again as the old one.” “I’d be glad now,” said Peter, “if you’d make that same halyard fast to the cleat on the windward side any time you might be using the sail.” “Do you think I’m a fool, Peter?” “I do not, Miss; but sure you know as well as I do that the mast that’s in her isn’t over and above strong, and I wouldn’t like anything would happen.” “There’s no wind any way.” “There is not; but I wouldn’t say but there might be at the turn of the tide.” “Haul her up to the slip,” said Priscilla. “I’ll be back again long before the tide turns.” The steamer swung slowly round. The rattle of her donkey-engine was plainly audible. The warp made fast to the buoy dipped into the water, strained taut dripping, and then dipped again. Suddenly the captain on the bridge shouted. The engine stopped abruptly. The warp sagged deep into the water. A small boat with one man in her appeared close under the steamer’s bows, went foul of the warp and lay heavily listed while one of her oars fell into the water and drifted away. “That’s a nice sort of fool to be out in a boat by himself,” said Priscilla. “He was damn near having to swim for it,” said Peter, as the boat righted herself and slipped over the warp. “Who is he?” “I don’t rightly know who he is,” said Peter, “but he paid four pounds for the use of Flanagan’s old boat for a fortnight, so I’m thinking he has very little sense.” “He has none,” said Priscilla. “Look at him now.” The man, deprived of one of his oars, was pushing his way along the steamer’s side towards the quay. The captain was swearing heartily at him from the bridge. “Anyhow,” said Priscilla, “I haven’t time to stay here and see him drown, though of course it would be interesting. I’m going to bathe and I have to get back again in time to meet the train.”