It was indubitably a true statement of facts, although it explained nothing of his very natural bewilderment. Still, Mrs. Haven was not a lady who was much given to explaining, so Jeffreys, after a third stare at the calm-faced Erica, turned rather red and began taking out the bags and boxes in silence. It was quite light on the wharf now, and Mrs. Haven stood by the carriage, her eyes scanning the dark harbor water anxiously, for she was not a good sailor and was mortally afraid of trusting herself in small boats. Then with a little cry of delight she caught at Erica’s arm, pointing. “There’s that nice young man the captain sent ashore last night to tell me what time to be at the wharf,” she exclaimed. “How polite of him to come to meet me this morning.” Erica, following the plump, pointing finger, half shrank behind the rotund figure of her benefactress, and felt her heart go—_flop_—down into the regions of her boots at one plunge. [Illustration: “THERE’S THAT NICE YOUNG MAN THE CAPTAIN SENT ASHORE LAST NIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT TIME TO BE AT THE WHARF”] This was the very worst luck that could have met her at the outset of her adventure. No possible chance of deceiving Tommy either as to her identity or as to his own cast-off garments she was wearing. If the _Spray_ had been moored to the wharf she might have succeeded in slipping by him and up a gangplank unnoticed. But with a trip in the _Spray’s_ boat, with all of them huddled together in the closest of quarters, she had just no chance at all. And very well she knew how Tommy would look upon her present expedition, and what he would do. If only she could have avoided meeting him until the _Spray_ was heading out to sea, he would have had, perforce, to make the best of the situation. Her glance went huntedly behind her for an avenue of escape. If Tommy need never know! But if she pulled away from Mrs. Haven’s hand on her arm and ran, there might be a regular hue and cry after her. That red-faced Jeffreys would be certain to put the worst possible construction on her flight. She was sure he was a little suspicious of her presence there, as it was. Despairingly she heard Mrs. Haven hail Tommy in friendly fashion, and saw the boy jump briskly to his feet from the piece of timbering on which he had been sitting, talking to another boy in sea-going garb, whose back was turned to Erica. Wave after wave of burning red swept across the girl’s face. Another instant now, and Tommy would recognize her, would take in at a glance the meaning of her masquerade. Suddenly she seemed to see the whole silly, impulsive plan as not only Tommy, but Aunt Charity, Aunt Callie, and her own father would view it. The kind of reckless, troublesome, unconsidered plan a child makes, and rushes into headlong, without a thought for the consequences. And at fifteen one was not supposed to be _that_ sort of child any more.