There were signs of a change in the weather when Vane walked down to the wharf with his passengers, for a cold wind which had sprung up struck an eerie sighing from the sombre firs and sent the white mists streaming along the hillside. There was a watery moon in the sky, and on reaching the end of the wharf Vane fancied that the singer hesitated; but the elder woman laid her hand upon the girl's arm reassuringly and she got into the canoe. In a few minutes Vane ran the craft alongside the sloop and saw the amazement in Carroll's face by the glow from the cabin skylight. He, however, fancied that his comrade would rise to the occasion and he handed his guests up. "My partner, Carroll. Mrs. Marvin and her daughter; Miss Kitty Blake. You have seen them already," he said. "They're coming down with us to catch the steamer." Carroll bowed, and Vane, who thrust back the cabin slide, motioned the others below. The place was brightly lighted by a nickelled lamp, though it was scarcely four feet high and the centreboard trunk occupied the middle of it. A wide, cushioned locker ran along each side a foot above the floor, and a swing table, fixed above the trunk, filled up most of the space between. There was no cloth upon the table, but it was invitingly laid out with canned fruit, coffee, hot flapjacks, and a big lake trout. "You must help yourselves while we get sail upon the boat," said Vane. "The saloon's at your disposal, my partner and I have the fo'c'sle. You will notice there are blankets yonder, and as we'll have smooth water most of the way you should get some sleep." He withdrew, closing the slide, and went forward with Carroll to shorten in the cable; but when they stopped beside the bitts his companion broke into a soft laugh. "Is there anything to amuse you?" Vane asked curtly. "Well," said Carroll with an air of reflection, "it strikes me you're making a rather unconventional use of your new prosperity, and it might be prudent to consider how your friends in Vancouver may regard the adventure." Vane sat down upon the bitts and took out his pipe. "One trouble in talking to you is that I never know whether you're in earnest or not. You trot out your cold-blooded worldly wisdom, and then you grin at it." "I think that's the only philosophic attitude," replied Carroll. "It's possible to grow furiously indignant with the restraints stereotyped people lay on one; but on the whole it's wiser to bow to them and chuckle. After all, they've some foundation." Vane looked up at him sharply. "You've been right in the advice you have given me more than once: you seem to know how prosperous and what you call stereotyped folks look at things. But you've never explained where you got the knowledge." "That," said Carroll, "is quite another matter."