The Real Charlotte, lOI 



your friend Mr. Hawkins was so sweet about a couple of 

 months ago that they packed him off here to be out of 

 harm's way. Look out, Dysart, I'm going about now," he 

 continued without givmg Francie time to reply. " Lee- 

 helm ! " 



" Oh, I'm sick of you and your old ' lee-helm ' ! " cried 

 Francie, as she grovelled again in the cockpit to avoid the 

 swing of the boom. "Why can't you go straight like Cap- 

 tain Cursiter's steamer, instead of bothering backwards and 

 forwards, side-ways, like this ? And you always do it just 

 when I want to ask you something." 



This complaint, which was mainly addressed to Mr. 

 Lambert's canvas yachting shoes, received no attention. 

 When Francie came to the surface she found that the yacht 

 was at a more uncomfortable angle than ever, and with some 

 difficulty she estabhshed herself on the narrow strip of deck, 

 outside the coaming, with her feet hanging into the cockpit. 



" Now, Mr. Lambert," she began at once, " you'd better 

 tell me Miss McCarthy's address, and all about her, and per- 

 haps if you're good I'll ask you to meet her too." 



As she spoke, a smart squall struck the yacht, and Lam- 

 bert luffed her hard up to meet it. A wave with a ragged 

 white edge flopped over her bows, wetting Christopher 

 again, and came washing aft along the deck behind the 

 coaming. 



" Look out aft there ! " he shouted. " She's putting her 

 nose into it ! I tell you that top-sail's burying her, 

 Lambert." 



Lambert made no answer to either Francie or Christopher. 

 He had as much as he could do to hold the yacht, which 

 was snatching at the tiller like a horse at its bit, and ripping 

 her way deep through the waves in a manner too vigorous 

 to be pleasant. It was about seven o'clock, and though the 

 sun was still some height above the dark jagged wall of the 

 mountains, the clouds had risen in a tawny fleece across his 

 path, and it was evident that he would be seen no more that 

 day. The lake had turned to indigo. The beds of reeds 

 near the shore were pallid by contrast as they stooped under 

 the wind ; the waves that raced towards the yacht had each 

 an angry foam-crest, having, after the manner of lake waves, 

 lashed themselves into a high state of indignation on very 



