thousan' afore Tass Marlin shows Gat Ingram where the schooner lays in eighteen fathom at dead low water."
Kit had heard every word. She listened intently, unconscious of all else. There was hope in the words, only a faint gleam, a merest chance, but still hope, hope! The shopman was speaking to her. She started, she had not heard him.
"Your crackers. Miss. Ten cents."
She paid him and passed out.
"Cap'n Tass, will you walk with me?" she said. "I want to speak to you."
"I ain't just built for walkin', Kit," he said. But he got up and came with her. She led him down along the water-side.
"Cap'n Tass," she began. "I heard you speaking about the Onward. Don't you mean to show them where she is?"
He shook his head, gravely. "No, Kit, I can't do it. I've had all my dealin's along of Gat Ingram. He don't deserve it, Kit, no more he don't."
"You oughtn't to bear malice, Cap'n Tass. It isn't like you. 'Tisn't Christian."
"Well, I d'know, Kit. That's what my Jane says, an' she reads me a piece outo' the Book where it says how't a man 'd oughter cut up to a feller same's he'd be done by. An' I know tarnal well how I'd be done by, if Gat Ingram was to hev the doin' on't. Leastways I can't do it, and ther' ain't no use jawin' about it. It goes agin me to say no to ye, Kit, it allus did. An' ye've got enough to fret ye, anyway 'thout that. I've heerd how ye've come through the hards, little un, an' I'm sorry 'nough—ye know I'd be sorry fur ye, Kit. Lord knows I'd help ye if I could! Poor Jack! I know'd him afore you was born. Kit—afore George Gladwin was drownded on Gull Reef. Never see two fellers take to other like them. Jack never got right over it—never been the same man since, though it's twenty-one year. Lord, how time flies. Kit! 'Pears sometimes it just flinders. It's a queer world—mighty queer. D'ye think I could help ye, little un? Poor Kit! Poor Kit!"
And he laid his big hand kindly on her head, and looked pityingly into her thin worn face. They were standing apart, in the shade of a tall old tree. She looked in his face and spoke—there was a gleam of hope in. her eyes, a tremor of eagerness in her words. She told him the sad story, their troubles, her father's gloom, her own anxiety, her terrible fears.
"I feel there's no hope from the lawyer," she finished. "He's a hard, merciless man. And I can't go back without some help. Oh, I can't—I can't! I'm afraid, Cap'n Tass, I'm afraid. You know what I mean, I can't say it—it's too horrible. Oh, Cap'n Tass, you can help me, you can save him, if you will. Will you do it? Will you?—will you?"
"How can I, girl? Tell me how?"
She grasped his arm in her eagerness. Her face flushed hot. Her heart beat hard. There is help, there is hope, it cried; he will, he can't refuse. She could hardly speak the words, between fear and hope.
"Tell me how I can find the schooner!"
He shrank as if she had struck him. He had not guessed her meaning—it took him by surprise. He sat down on a log, took off his cap, wiped his wet forehead, looked at her doubtingly a minute, then he spoke.
"I'm taken all aback. Kit. I dun' know what to say. I can't do it—it's too much, it's too hard. You didn't ought to ask me. Kit, it aint right. I can't put
