"What's all this?" inquired Percival.

"Nothing you would be interested in, my friend," said Olga, with a little laugh. She waved her hand airily as she moved swiftly away in the gloom.

They watched her yellow figure fade into the starlit shadows. As they turned to rejoin the others, Ruth said:

"I think you might have told her how beautiful she was, dear." So much for the native perversity of woman, even when she is most content.

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the soft, warm palm. It was a habit of his,--and she never failed to shiver in response to the exquisite thrill. She drew a deep breath, and leaned a little closer to him.

"Look up yonder, sweetheart," he whispered. "Do you see the one star in all the heavens that shines the brightest? It is the only one I see when I raise my eyes. The big, full star in the Southern Cross. The others are dim, feeble little things preening themselves in reflected glory.

That great, beautiful star at the foot of the Cross is all that I can see. It's no use for me to look elsewhere. That star fills my vision.

Its splendour fascinates me."

She waited for him to go on. Her eyes were shining. But the a.n.a.logy was complete. She laid her cheek against his and sighed tremulously. After a moment, they turned their heads and their lips met in a long, pa.s.sionate kiss.

"I should be content to stay on this dear little island for ever, sweetheart," she murmured. "My whole world is here."

He stroked her hair lovingly, and was silent for a long time. Then he smiled his whimsical smile.

"It's all right for you and me, dear,--but how about the future President of the United States sleeping up there in his crib?"

She smiled up into his eyes. "It's a nuisance, isn't it?--having to stop and consider that we are parents as well as lovers."

They rejoined the group on the porch.

"I had a horrible dream last night," said Peter Snipe, getting up and stretching himself. "That's why I'm staying up so late tonight. I hate to go to bed."

"What was your dream, Peter?" asked Ruth.

"Do you believe in 'em?"

"Only in day-dreams."

"Well, I dreamed our little old ship was finished and had sailed at last and for once our wireless plant up there began to get messages from the sea. I dreamed I was sitting up there with the operator. It was a dark, stormy night. The wireless began to crackle. He jumped up to see what was coming. He was getting messages from our own ship, away out there on the ocean. She was calling for help. 'Sinking fast,--sinking fast,--sinking fast.' Over and over again,--just those two words.

'Gad,--it was so real, so terribly real, that the first thing I did this morning was to walk down to see if the boat was still on the stocks. She was there, a long way from being finished, and--and, by gad, I had hard work to keep from blubbering, I was so relieved."

"It will take more than a dream to knock that ship to pieces," said Percival. "When she's ready for the water, there will not be a st.u.r.dier craft afloat. Andrew Mott says she'll weather anything outside of the China Sea. Don't look so distressed, Amy. Pete's a novelist. They never do anything but dream horrible dreams. Generally they go so far as to put them into print, and people read 'em and say they are wildly improbable,--especially if they have a happy ending. It's always the happy ending that makes them improbable,--but popular. Isn't that so, Pete?"

"If we didn't give them a happy ending, they would refuse to recognize us the next time they saw us on a bookseller's counter," said Peter.

"Well, I guess I'll be on my way. I've got a busy day tomorrow, setting up the Trigger Island Pioneer,--and as I belong to that almost extinct species known as the bachelor, I am forced to be my own alarm clock.

Going my way, Abel?"

"Good night, Ruth," said Landover. "Give the Lieutenant Governor a good smack for me,--and tell him he is still in my will."

"Umph!" grunted Fitts. "I'd like to know what you've got to leave the little beggar. Your letter of credit?"

"Certainly not," replied Landover. "Something worth while, Fittsy, my boy. I am making it now. It's going to be a hobby-horse, if I live long enough to finish it. Good night, Perce. 'Night, everybody."

When the last of the company had departed, Ruth and Percival stood for a long time in silence, listening to the far-off thrumming of a Spanish guitar, their tranquil gaze fixed on the murky shadow that marked the line of trees along the sh.o.r.e, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, his arm about her waist.

"What are you thinking of, dear?" she asked at last.

"Peter's dream," he replied. "It has put an idea into my head. The day that ship down there sails out to sea with her courageous little crew, I shall start laying the keel for another just like her."

Neither spoke for many seconds. Then she said, a deep, solemn note in her voice: "I understand, Perce."

They went into the house. Later they stole tiptoe to the side of the crib where slept the st.u.r.dy, sun-kissed babe. The two middle fingers of a chubby hand were in his mouth. With one hand Percival shaded the pitch candle he had brought from the kitchen. She leaned over and gently touched the smooth, warm cheek.

"I--I can't believe he is real, Perce," she whispered.

"He isn't," whispered he. "He is something out of a fairy story. Nothing as wonderful as he is can possibly be real."

THE END