The sailmaker grinned and whispered shyly, "Why, he's a berth in m' cabin, Mr. Kydd, an' nary a rat shall ye find in th' barky."

"Mr. Duckitt."

The gunner removed his hat and shuffled his feet in pleased embarrassment. "Our metal's as good as ever it was, sir," he muttered.

Kydd's eyes found others and the memories returned.

The rest of the Teazers were assembled forward, their faces leaving no doubt about their feelings that their old captain had been restored. Kydd had Teazer back and the future was up to him. He turned to address the men. Legs abrace, he took off his hat and opened his mouth, but a lump in his throat stopped the words. He drew out his handkerchief and spluttered into it until he had regained his composure. Then he began, "Teazers. It's—it's with . . ." It was no good. He wheeled on the boatswain. "Mr. Purchet, this afternoon a make 'n' mend for all hands!" In the storm of cheering that resulted he took refuge in his cabin.

It was bare and unkempt, with an alien smell. Standish had cleared it completely and, without furnishings, it looked immense. Kydd gave a bleak grin. After his dismissal from his ship he'd been reduced to the life of a wandering vagrant, sleeping in a sail-loft until he had achieved handsome riches through privateering. Standish's petty act was meaningless—with his new-found fortune he could easily purchase replacements.

There was a well-remembered knock on the door. "Come, Tysoe!" he called happily, and stood to greet his old servant.

The man entered discreetly, his nose wrinkling in disdain at the sight of the forlorn cabin.

"Aye! Well, we've a mort of work to do in seeing this'n all shipshape— but there's none better, I dare t' say, as I trust to take it in hand." In the absence of his sister Cecilia's womanly touch, he could safely leave it to Tysoe to go ashore and make the necessary purchases.