their drink from London instead of helping local traders to get their
living."

"But you haven't got any rum like his," I said, to draw him out.

His neck grew red above his collar, and I was afraid I'd gone too
far; but after a while he got his breath with a grunt.

"John Simmons," he said, "if you've come down here this windy night
to talk a lot of fool's talk, you've wasted a journey."

Well, of course, then I had to smooth him down with praising his rum,
and Heaven forgive me for swearing it was better than Captain's. For
the like of that rum no living lips have tasted save mine and
parson's. But somehow or other I brought landlord round, and
presently we must have a glass of his best to prove its quality.

"Beat that if you can!" he cried, and we both raised our glasses to
our mouths, only to stop half-way and look at each other in amaze.
For the wind that had been howling outside like an outrageous dog had
all of a sudden turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a Christmas
Eve.

"Surely that's not my Martha," whispered landlord; Martha being his
great-aunt that lived in the loft overhead.

We went to the door, and the wind burst it open so that the handle
was driven clean into the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think
about that at the time; for over our heads, sailing very comfortably
through the windy stars, was the ship that had passed the summer in