It was a warm late-afternoon toward the end of the first week in June. The water was a still green, with patches of deep purple farther out, and the Monomoy shore across the harbor was green also, with purple shadow-patches sloping up to a pale blue sky line. “I always think I like October best,” Erica murmured, thoughtfully, staring raptly at the panorama of color spread out before her, “but sometimes June—— Mercy me, Lis! _Look out there!_” The boy turned sharply at the change in her tone, his eyes following her pointing finger seaward. And there, less than an eighth of a mile offshore, lay a great sailing-ship at anchor, her white canvas wings just being furled in a mighty bustle of activity on her decks that could be made out plainly by the excited boy and girl. “Lis, it’s a tea clipper!” Erica gasped, breathlessly. “What’s she doing out there? They never put in here, that I’ve heard tell of.” “Nor me,” Lis returned, ungrammatical in his own astonishment. “She’s lying out there, of course, ‘cause she can’t cross the bar at this tide. But why she’s here at all— Say, Rick”—he caught at her arm with suddenly tense fingers—”now I’ve got a real look at her—I was so excited I didn’t before—she’s—she’s not just _a_ tea clipper. That’s the _Sea Gull_, as sure as we’re standing here!” Erica uttered a little cry. “Lis—why—why, of course she was due in Salem some time ago, and we’ve all been wondering why father didn’t come. But—you actually think that’s _father’s ship_ come to Nantucket?” “I know it is,” Lis declared, confidently. “Remember, Uncle Eric took Tom and me to Salem two years ago and we stayed on board three days while she lay in port. That was the time you had chicken pox, and were quarantined.” He grinned reminiscently at the memory of her frantic rebellion over being done out of that trip. But Erica’s attention was not to be diverted by even such tragic memories, from the thrilling present. “Now they’re lowering a boat away,” she whispered. “In just a little minute we’ll know. Lis, don’t let’s stand here like two ninnies. They’ll land over at this nearest wharf. Hurry, so we can be out at the end, waiting to meet father. For if that’s truly the _Sea Gull_ he’ll come ashore in the first boat.” “Sure he will,” Lis conceded, breaking into a jog-trot at Erica’s flying heels. “But there’s no need of racing and getting all het up,” he added in remonstrance as he saw her quicken her pace. “We’ll be at the wharf long before that boat can get there.” “All right, walk if you want to, slow-poke,” Erica flung over one slim, brown-plaid shoulder. “I’m going to be there waving as soon as father’s near enough to see. Likely he’s got his glasses with him, so he’ll recognize me while they’re still away out. ‘By, tortoise!”