"But what for the use?" asked Betsy, turning her large brown eyes solemnly on her companion. "It no seems too big to me. Besides, when brudder Gubbins give him to me he--"

"Who is brudder Gubbins?" asked Marie, with a look of smiling surprise.

"Oh! _you_ know. The min'ster--Gubbins--what come to the mission-station just afore me an' Waroonga left for Ratinga."

"Oh! I see; the Reverend Mr Gubbins--well, what did _he_ say about the bonnet?"

"W'at did he say? ah! he say much mor'n I kin remember, an' he look at the bonnet with's head a one side--so sad an' pitiful like. 'Ah! Betsy Waroonga,' ses he, 'this just the thing for you. Put it on an' take it to Ratinga, it'll press the natives there.'"

"Impress them, you mean, Betsy."

"Well, p'raps it was that. Anyhow I put it on, an' he looked at me _so_ earnest an' ses with a sigh, 'Betsy,' ses he, 'it minds me o' my grandmother, an' she _was_ a good old soul--brought me up, Betsy, she did. Wear it for her sake an' mine. I make a present of it to you.'"

"Ah! Betsy," said Marie, "the Reverend Gubbins must be a wag, I suspect."

"W'at's a wag, Marie?"

"Don't you know what a wag is?"

"Oh, yis, _I_ know. When leetil bird sit on a stone an shake hims tail, I've heerd you an Orley say it wag--but misser Gubbins he got no tail to wag--so how can he wag it?"

"I didn't say he wagged it, Betsy," returned Marie, repressing a laugh, "but--you'll never get to understand what a wag means, so I won't try to explain. Look! Zariffa is venturesome. You'd better call her back."

Zariffa was indeed venturesome. Clad in a white flannel petticoat and a miniature coal-scuttle, she was at that moment wading so deep into the clear sea that she had to raise the little garment as high as her brown bosom to keep it out of the water; and with all her efforts she was unsuccessful, for, with that natural tendency of childhood to forget and neglect what cannot be seen, she had allowed the rear-part of the petticoat to drop into the sea.

This, however, occasioned little or no anxiety to Betsy Waroonga, for she was not an anxious mother; but when, raising her eyes a little higher, she beheld the tip of the back-fin of a shark describing lively circles in the water as if it had scented the tender morsel and were searching for it, her easy indifference vanished. She gave vent to a yell and made a bound that told eloquently of the savage beneath the missionary, and, in another instant was up to the knees in the water with the coal-scuttle quivering violently. Seizing Zariffa, she squeezed her almost to the bursting point against her palpitating breast, while the shark headed seaward in bitter disappointment.

"Don't go so deep agin, Ziffa," said the mother, with a gasp, as she set her little one down on the sand.

"No, musser," said the obedient child; and she kept on the landward side of her parent thereafter with demonstrative care.

It may be remarked here that, owing to Waroonga's love for, and admiration of, white men, Zariffa's native tongue was English--broken, of course, to the pattern of her parents.

"It was a narrow escape, Betsy," said Marie, solemnised by the incident.

"Yes, thank the Lord," replied the other, continuing to gaze out to sea long after the cause of her alarm had disappeared.

"Oh! Marie," she added, with a sigh, "when will the dear men come home?"

The question drove all the playful humour out of poor Marie, and her eyes filled with sudden tears.

"When, indeed? Oh! Betsy, _my_ man will never come. For Orley and the others I have little fear, but my Antonio--"

Poor Marie could say no more. Her nature was as quickly, though not as easily, provoked to deep sorrow as to gaiety. She covered her face with her hands.

As she did so the eyes of Betsy, which had for some time been fixed on the horizon, opened to their widest, and her countenance a.s.sumed a look so deeply solemn that it might have lent a touch of dignity even to the coal-scuttle bonnet, if it had not bordered just a little too closely on the ridiculous.

"Ho! Marie," she exclaimed in a whisper so deep that her friend looked up with a startled air; "see! look--a sip."

"A ship--where?" said the other, turning her eager gaze on the horizon.

But she was not so quick-sighted as her companion, and when at length she succeeded in fixing the object with her eyes, she p.r.o.nounced it a gull.

"No 'snot a gull--a sip," retorted Betsy.

"Ask Zariffa. Her eyes are better than ours," suggested Marie.

"k.u.meer, Ziffa!" shouted Betsy.

Zariffa came, and, at the first glance, exclaimed. "A sip!"

The news spread in a moment for other and sharper eyes in the village had already observed the sail, and, ere long, the beach was crowded with natives.

By that time most of the Ratingans had adopted more or less, chiefly less, of European costume, so that the aspect of the crowd was anything but savage. It is true there were large proportions of brown humanity presented to view--such as arms, legs, necks, and chests, but these were picturesquely interspersed with striped cotton drawers, duck trousers, gay guernseys, red and blue flannel petticoats, numerous caps and straw hats as well as a few coal-scuttles--though none of the latter could match that of Betsy Waroonga for size and tremulosity.

But there were other signs of civilisation there besides costume, for, in addition to the neat huts and gardens and whitewashed church, there was a sound issuing from the pointed spire which was anything but suggestive of the South sea savage. It was the church bell--a small one, to be sure, but sweetly toned--which was being rung violently to call in all the fighting men from the woods and fields around, for at that time the Ratingans had to be prepared for the reception of foes as well as friends.

A trusty chief had been placed in charge of the village by Tomeo before he left. This man now disposed his warriors in commanding positions as they came trooping in, obedient to the call, and bade them keep out of sight and watch his signals from the beach.

But now let us see what vessel it was that caused such commotion in Ratinga.

She was a brig, with nothing particularly striking in her rig or appointments--a mere trading vessel. But on her bulwarks at the bow and on the heel of the bowsprit was gathered a group that well deserves notice, for there, foremost of all, and towering above the others, stood Antonio Zeppa, holding on to a forestay, and gazing with intensity and fixedness at the speck of land which had just been sighted. Beside him, and not less absorbed, stood his valiant and amiable son; while around, in various att.i.tudes, sat or stood the chiefs Tomeo and b.u.t.tchee, Rosco and Ebony, Ongoloo and Wapoota, and little Lippy with her mother!

But the native missionary was not there. He had positively refused to quit the desert which had so unexpectedly and suddenly begun to blossom as the rose, and had remained to water the ground until his friends should send for him.

The chief and prime minister of the Mountain-men were there because, being large-minded, they wished to travel and see the world; and Lippy was there because Zeppa liked her; while the mother was there because she liked Lippy and refused to be parted from her.

Great was the change which had come over Zeppa during his convalescence.

The wild locks and beard had been cut and trimmed; the ragged garments had been replaced by a suit belonging to Orley, and the air of wild despair, alternating with vacant simplicity, which characterised him in his days of madness, had given place to the old, sedate, sweet look of gentle gravity. It is true the grey hairs had increased in number, and there was a look, or, rather, an effect, of suffering in the fine face which nothing could remove; but much of the muscular vigour and the erect gait had been regained during those months when he had been so carefully and untiringly nursed by his son on Sugar-loaf Island.

It was not so with the ex-pirate. Poor Rosco was a broken man. The shock to his frame from the partial burning and the subsequent amputation of his feet had been so great that a return to anything like vigour seemed out of the question. But there was that in the expression of his faded face, and in the light of his sunken eye, which carried home the conviction that the ruin of his body had been the saving of his soul.

"I cannot tell you, Orley, how thankful I am," said Zeppa, "that this trader happened to touch at the island. As I grew stronger my anxiety to return home became more and more intense; and to say truth, I had begun to fear that Captain Fitzgerald had forgotten us altogether."

"No fear of that, father. The captain is sure to keep his promise. He will either return, as he said, or send some vessel to look after us.

What are you gazing at, Ebony?"

"De steepil, ma.s.sa. Look!" cried the negro, his whole face quivering with excitement, and the whites of his eyes unusually obtrusive as he pointed to the ever-growing line of land on the horizon, "you see him?-- glippering like fire!"

"I do see something glittering," said Orlando, shading his eyes with his hand; "yes, it must be the steeple of the church, father. Look, it was not there when you left us. We'll soon see the houses now."

"Thank G.o.d!" murmured Zeppa, in a deep, tremulous voice.

"Can you see it, Rosco?" said Orley.

The pirate turned his eyes languidly in the direction pointed out.

"I see the land," he said faintly, "and I join your father in thanking G.o.d for that--but--but it is not _home_ to me."

"Come, friend," said Zeppa, laying his hand gently on the poor man's shoulder, "say not so. It shall be home to you yet, please G.o.d. If He has blotted out the past in the cleansing blood of the Lamb, what is man that he should remember it? Cheer up, Rosco, you shall find a home and a welcome in Ratinga."