On the second day after their arrival in the harbor, the _Sea Gull_ sailed again, carrying Sun Li, Dr. Wu, His Excellency’s gorgeous lacquer sedan chair, and the coolie bearers back to their native China. Erica, who had cherished up to the last minute a faint spark of hope that she might be included in the party, was partially consoled by a definite promise from her father that two years hence, when she should have finished her schooling, he would take her with him on one of his voyages. With that she had to be content. She went down to the shore, at the hour the clipper was to sail, and—as she had done on that long-ago occasion of Lister’s departure for his first cruise—she walked up the beach beyond the farthest edge of the town, and stood there, very silent, waving her handkerchief as long as the _Sea Gull’s_ white wings could be seen. Then, her eyes rather blurred, it must be confessed, by the tears she was gallantly winking back, but her lips quite steady, she turned back toward home. As she tramped sturdily along the beach she glanced over her shoulder just once, at the now empty ocean. “Still, two years aren’t such a _very_ long time to wait,” Erica told herself in a determinedly-cheerful tone, and her fingers went up to touch a small, silver-and-jade key that hung on a knotted Chinese cord about her neck. She even managed a determinedly-cheerful smile to match the tone. After all—at sixteen—two years really _aren’t_. THE END