There were certainly no ships in sight that I could believe were my father's. Two fishing schooners were riding at anchor, and the smoke of a steamer showed on the horizon--that was all. I left the pond behind and walked out to the end of the little cape. At any moment my father's ship might come in sight, and it was surely well for me to be ready for her. The sailors would be glad to see me, for then they could hand over the velocipede, sail away again to wherever they came from, and get anything else my father might want. Where _were_ they coming from? That was an interesting question. I could see no land out there, but I had been told that if a ship sailed straight ahead in that direction the first land reached would be Portugal. "I wonder what kind of velocipedes they have in Portugal?" I uttered this aloud, and I jumped when I heard a voice say:-- "What's that you are wondering?" A man had walked up behind me. He was a stranger--a tall man, carrying his hat in his hand. He repeated his question, and I told him that I was wondering about the velocipedes in Portugal. "Portugal--Portugal," he ruminated. "I've never been in Portugal. I've been near it, though. I've been in Spain. In fact, I own some property in Spain." "Do you?" I queried in astonishment. "But you look like an American. And Portugal's right straight out there. Why didn't you go there first?" "Well, I went another way, you see. And then the Spaniards are easier to get along with--they're better landlords." "Can you talk Spanish?" I demanded. "A little," he replied modestly; "enough to answer. Tell me about this velocipede of yours. How did it get to Portugal?" "It didn't get there," I told him; "it's coming from there. Or, anyhow, it's coming from somewhere. On my father's ship." "Oh, your father has a ship, has he?" "Yes. He told me this morning that I could have a velocipede when his ship came in." He looked down at me seriously enough. "I see. And so now you're waiting for his ship to come in." "Yes." There was a pause. Then he seemed struck by the appearance of my bare legs. "What is the matter with your shins?" he asked. "Mosquito bites," I replied briefly. After another pause he said, gravely: "Camphor is good for mosquito bites." "Yes, I know. My mother puts it on every night." I thought a moment, and then asked, "Do they have mosquitoes in Spain?" "Not on my estates," he assured me; "nothing unpleasant on them at all. But it's funny you should be here waiting for a ship to come in. For that's just what I am doing." "Have you a ship?" "One exactly like your father's." "Do you know my father?" "No, but I know his ship." "Is it a three-masted schooner, painted white?" "Why, it's white. I am not sure about the three masts. But it's white sure enough, all bright and shiny. So is mine. Most of 'em are." "Do many people have ships?" "Oh, yes, lots and lots. Some of them have velocipedes on board, and some have--oh, all kinds of things."