“What have you been doing?” she inquired, as soon as she could control her voice. “Nothing,” said the skipper, airily, “nothing. I was kicking a stone along the path and he told me to stop it.” “Well?” said Miss Pilbeam, impatiently. “We had words,” said the skipper. “I don't like policemen—fat policemen—and while we were talking he happened to lose his balance and go over into some mud that was swept up at the side of the road.” “Lost his balance?” gasped the horrified Miss Pilbeam. The skipper was flattered at her concern. “You would have laughed if you had seen him,” he said, smiling. “Don't look so frightened; he hasn't got me yet.” “No,” said the girl, slowly. “Not yet.” She gazed at him with such a world of longing in her eyes that the skipper, despite a somewhat large share of self-esteem, was almost startled. “And he shan't have me,” he said, returning her gaze with interest. Miss Pilbeam stood in silent thought. She was a strong, well-grown girl, but she realized fully that she was no match for the villain who stood before her, twisting his moustache and adjusting his neck-tie. And her father would not be off duty until nine. “I suppose you would like to wait here until it is dark?” she said at last. “I would sooner wait here than anywhere,” said the skipper, with respectful ardor. “Perhaps you would like to come in and sit down?” said the girl. Captain Bligh thanked her, and removing his cap followed her into a small parlor in the front of the house. “Father is out,” she said, as she motioned him to an easy-chair, “but I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you when he comes in.” “And I shall be pleased to see him,” said the innocent skipper. Miss Pilbeam kept her doubts to herself and sat in a brown study, wondering how the capture was to be effected. She had a strong presentiment that the appearance of her father at the front door would be the signal for her visitor's departure at the back. For a time there was an awkward silence. “Lucky thing for me I upset that policeman,” said the skipper, at last. “Why?” inquired the girl. “Else I shouldn't have come into your yard,” was the reply. “It's the first time we have ever put into Woodhatch, and I might have sailed away and never seen you. Where should we have been but for that fat policeman?” Miss Pilbeam—as soon as she could get her breath—said, “Ah, where indeed!” and for the first time in her life began to feel the need of a chaperon. “Funny to think of him hunting for me high and low while I am sitting here,” said the skipper. Miss Pilbeam agreed with him, and began to laugh—to laugh so heartily that he was fain at last to draw his chair close to hers and pat her somewhat anxiously on the back. The treatment sobered her at once, and she drew apart and eyed him coldly. “I was afraid you would lose your breath,” explained the skipper, awkwardly. “You are not angry, are you?”