“Yes, I do,” Erica declared, “but I’m not going to sit here all evening moaning about it. There’s the most gorgeous full moon outside—the ‘Hunter’s Moon,’ don’t they call it? Let’s all go down to the wharf and take a last look at Captain Joy’s _Narwhal_. She’s sailing tomorrow morning at high tide. A ship out in that harbor with the full moon on her is somehow awfully exciting. They always make me think of pirates, the sails look so black and mysterious against the moon.” The _Narwhal_ was a whaler, bound for the South Seas on what would probably be a three-year cruise, and Erica and the twins had known her captain and crew (most of them Nantucket men) as long as they could remember. “Do you think Aunt Charity will like you to go down there so late?” Lister asked, doubtfully. Girls were supposed to sit at home in those days, when even the mildest of adventures were afoot. “Oh, Tommy and you can protect me,” Erica retorted, flippantly. “Anyhow, I’m in disgrace with Aunt Charity already, on account of my hair, so a bit more or less won’t matter.” She was bundling on her wraps as she spoke, for the evening was cold outside with the chill of the strong northeaster blowing in from the sea. Knowing Erica’s stubbornness of old, the twins pulled on caps and overcoats and followed her to the back door. Lis offered one final protest, but half-heartedly. “And mother won’t like it if we leave the house alone, with the fire burning and the lamp lit.” “Bank the fire with ashes,” Erica said, resourcefully. “And we can blow out the lamp. Hurry up, you two, or I go without you.” Five minutes later they were out in the cold, moon-flooded quiet of Orange Street. They walked in the middle of the deserted road, arms linked, whistling softly under their breaths. Erica’s spirits had soared suddenly and unaccountably as high as Tommy’s for this night at least, and Lis was always willing enough to share their moods, in his own contained, level-headed fashion. Then, arms still linked, they fell to dancing in long, gliding skating steps, weaving from side to side of the road, spirits mounting hilariously with the exercise and the heady autumn air, that tonight smelled again of sea salt and the spicy scent of sweet-fern and bayberry. Finally, breathless with laughter, they swung about the corner into Main Street, and sobered to a more decorous gait. “Aunt Charity will never,” Erica panted, “make a perfect lady of me. I love to move about, and run and shout and _do_ things too much. Oh-h-h! there’s the _Narwhal_ now! Doesn’t she look like a pirate ship, just as I said?”