"We--" O'Reilly faltered slightly, so much hung upon the manner in which Morin would take what he was about to say. "We want to get him out of here--we MUST do so, or we'll lose him." Sensing some hidden significance, some obscure purpose behind this confession, the Spaniard looked sharply at the speaker. His leathery countenance darkened. "Why are you telling me this?" he inquired. "What makes you think I won't betray you?" "Something tells me you won't. You have a good heart, and you have kept Narciso from starving, for the sake of your own boy." "Well?" "Will you help us?" "_I_? In Heaven's name, how?" "By taking us away in your charcoal-schooner." "You're mad!" Morin cast another apprehensive look over his shoulder. "I'm a poor man. All I have is my two boats, the vivero, which brings fish, and the volandra, which sails with charcoal. Do you think I'd forfeit them and my life for strangers?" "There wouldn't be much risk." "Indeed? Perhaps I know something about that." O'Reilly leaned closer. "You say you're a poor man, I will pay you well." Morin eyed the ragged speaker scornfully; it was plain that he put no faith in such a promise, and so O'Reilly took a piece of gold from his pocket, at sight of which the fisherman started. "What kind of pacificos are you?" Morin queried. His mouth had fallen open, his eyes protruded. "I, too, am a poor man, but I'm willing to buy freedom for my little brothers and myself." "How many coins like that have you?" "Um--m--more than one; enough to pay you for several cargoes of coal." "And I have given you fish to eat!" Morin rolled his eyes at Jacket. He pondered the marvel of what he had seen, he muttered something to himself. "For the sake of Miguelito," Jacket urged. "CARAMBA! What a hard-hearted father begot that boy!" "Hush!" The fisherman was scowling. To O'Reilly he said, "You do wrong to tempt a poor man." "My brother Esteban is sick. He is a frail little lad with a crooked back. God will reward you." "Perhaps! But how much will YOU pay?" "Ten Spanish sovereigns like this--all that I have." "No! It is not enough." O'Reilly took Jacket's hand and turned away. "I'm sorry," said he. "I wish I might offer you more." He had taken several steps before Morin hailed him. "Come back to-morrow," the fisherman cried, crossly. "We will try to talk like sensible people." The brothers Villar were back at Morin's fish-stand on the following afternoon and they returned daily thereafter until they at last prevailed over the Spaniard's fears and won his promise of assistance. That much accomplished, they made several cautious purchases, a coat here, a shirt there, a pair of trousers in another place, until they had assembled a complete boy's outfit of clothing.