Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. " "Ruth what?" "Enschede; Ruth Enschede. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. “We must go. " CHAPTER V.
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