the kid in me to half believe him, still. He tells such pretty stories. And oh, I wish they were true! They are—in spirit anyway."
And the quaint teller of tales, guessing at her defence of him though he didn't understand all of her brief, interjected,—
"The Señorita ees kind an' have the faith."
"Besides, Uncle Harve, you'll admit it's strange—the haunted island, not a living soul on it, and such a beautiful place—yet not on any chart."
"It is strange," Captain Fairwinds admitted, "but I could always find a practical solution for every mystery I ever heard of, and every ghost that ever walked. His Seven Moons now, they're a mirage perhaps, or electrical phenomenon like St. Elmo's Fire—or whatnot. Though I have heard it called 'The Isle of Seven Moons.'"
"The Isle of Seven Moons!" She repeated it musically. "That is pretty," then slowly, "I wonder!" Which perhaps again was a girl's delicate way of saying,—"There are more things in Heaven and earth, Harvey, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
At five bells the girl, who was almost always to be found on deck these days, hailed Captain Fairwinds.
"What's that—on our starboard bow?"
Yes, she was sure of it, and to confirm it, came the lookout's cry. There was a little smudge on the horizon, a little darker than the sea's blue rim.
"The glass, Captain Harve!" and she danced up and down on the deck, her hands and mouth twitching in impatience.
