The youth, moving forward, stopped to enlighten them. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the old man.
"He's got kin here at Jerico," he explained; "and we're setting in to see them. We won't stop long."
The mainsail came smoothly down, the jib fluttered, and the sloop slid in beside a sturdy old wharf, projecting from a deep fringe of willows. No sign of life or habitation was visible.
The youth made fast a hawser, the old man mounted painfully to the dock, and Indy stirred and rose.
"I must have just winked asleep," she declared in consternation.
Rosemary Roselle lightly left the boat, and Elim followed. "If we explored," he proposed, "perhaps we could get you a cup of coffee." She elected, however, to stay by the river, and Elim went inward alone. Beyond the willows was an empty marshland. The old man had disappeared, with no trace of his objective kin. A road, deep in yellow mire, mounted a rise beyond and vanished a hundred yards distant. Elim, unwilling to get too far away from the sloop, had turned and moved toward the wharf, when he was halted by the sound of horses' hoofs.
He saw approaching him over the road a light open carriage with a fringed canopy and a pair of horses driven by a negro in a long white dust coat. In the body of the carriage a diminutive bonneted head was barely visible above an enormous circumference of hoops. Elim saw bobbing gray curls, peering anxious eyes, and a fluttering hand in a black silk-thread mit.
"Gossard," a feminine voice cried shrilly to the driver,
