commenced to drop toward the west it descended with a terrible swiftness. Soon the shadows left the corners of the cabin and came out boldly to the center. Lemoncolored dusk turned river and sky into one pale wash of that shade. And then, with the wintry abruptness of January, it was night.
When it was quite dark and he could no longer see her, Young Cy called to his silent companion.
"Charity!"
The little girl stumbled to her feet from her chair beside the table and went over to him.
"Yes, Young Cy?" she answered whisperingly.
"I think we be almost at the end of our voyage, Cherry, now. And I have been trying to plan an escape."
"I too, Young Cy!"
"Didst look upon the table for a knife or some implement whereby ye could cut this rope, Charity? I vow, I cannot bear to think of dying like a trussed fowl!"
"Aye, Young Cy, I looked for a knife; but there was none. I will feel again, however, an ye desire!"
Charity turned and groped her way back to the table in the center of the cabin. As she had said, though, there was no knife there. Her eager fingers slid along the table's smooth surface, encountering only the spyglass and the candlestick holder until she aimlessly took hold of the box. This she picked up, remembering that it was a pretty carved box of teak wood.
As she felt of it in her hands, suddenly her fingers encountered a little hidden spring and the carved lid
