Rudyard Kipling 95 in this silence caught the sound. Maisie from her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear. She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her with over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. She was not prepared, however, for the change in his face as he listened. “It’s a steamer,” he said, — “a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I can’t make her out, but she must be standing very close in-shore. Ah!” as the red of a rocket streaked the haze, “she’s standing in to signal before she clears the Channel.” “Is it a wreck?” said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. Dick’s eyes were turned to the sea. “Wreck! What nonsense! She’s only reporting herself. Red rocket forward — there’s a green light aft now, and two red rockets from the bridge.” “What does that mean?” “It’s the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder which steamer it 1s.” The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to be talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight broke the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer working down Channel. “Four masts and three funnels — she’s in deep draught, too. That must be the Barralong, or the Bhutia. No, the Bhutia has a clopper bow. It’s the Barralong, to Australia. She'll lift the Southern Cross in a week, — lucky old tub! — oh, lucky old tub!” He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. “Have you ever seen the Southern Cross blazing right over your head?” he asked. “It’s superb!”