NE STILL, warm August night there came a ringing trumpet blast from out at sea—like Gabriel blowing his horn. A double row of lights came gliding in toward the island in a slow curve. It was a huge yacht, purring as only very expensive and very fast boats can purr, and carrying lights of every color from dark blue and blood-red to white. The whole ocean held its breath. Sophia and her grandmother stood out on the granite in their nightgowns and watched. The strange boat slid closer and closer, with its motor throttled down and its lights reflecting in the water like dancing snakes of fire. Then it disappeared behind the island. Sophia’s father had put on his pants, and he ran out to meet it. For a long time there was perfect silence, and then faint music floated toward them from across the island.

“They’re having a party,” Sophia whispered. “Let’s go, too. Let’s get dressed and go over right now!”

But Grandmother said, “Wait a bit. Wait till he comes to get us.”

They lay down in their beds while they waited, and pretty soon they fell asleep. And the next morning the boat was gone. It had sailed away.

Sophia threw herself down on the rock and wept. “He could have come to get us!” she wailed. “He let us sleep and they were having a party; I’ll never forgive him!”

“He behaved very badly,” said Grandmother sternly. “And I’ll tell him so when he wakes up.”

The image of the mysterious boat returned to overwhelm Sophia and she screamed with grief.

“Blow your nose,” her grandmother said. “It was a dreadful disappointment, but blow your nose anyway. You look awful.” She waited a moment and said, “I’ll bet they were very unpleasant people. They only inherited the boat. They don’t know a thing about boats. But,” she added vindictively, “they did do the interior decorating themselves, and the colors are awful.”

“You really think?” moaned Sophia, sitting up.

“Awful,” her grandmother assured her. “They’ve got shiny silk curtains that are brown and gold and puce, and they’ve got standing lamps and plastic plates and paintings on velvet—humorous ones, which makes it worse...”

“Okay, okay,” said Sophia impatiently. “Go on.”

“And if someone hadn’t given them the boat they would have stolen it.”

“Who from?”

“From a poor smuggler. And they stole all his contraband, too, every bit of it, and they only drink pop themselves. They only took it for the money,” Grandmother went on, warming to her subject. “And they went off without a map and without any oars!”

“But why did they come to our place?”

“So they could hide everything in the ravine and then come back and get it later.”

“Do you believe all that?”

“Some of it,” said Grandmother cautiously.

Sophia stood up and blew her nose. “Now,” she said. “Now I’ll tell you what happened last night. You sit down and listen. When Papa came down to their boat, they wanted him to buy a bottle of ninety-six proof, and it was really expensive. Now you be Papa. Say what he said.”

“He said, very proudly, ‘It’s beneath my dignity to buy ninety-six proof. I’ll find my own liquor if I want some, salvage it from the sea at the risk of my life. So keep your precious rotgut, my dear sir. What’s more, my family doesn’t like the taste.’ Now it’s your turn.”

“‘Oh indeed? So you have a family, sir? And where is this family of yours, pray tell?’”

“‘Nowhere nearby.’”

“But we were right here all the time!” Sophia shouted. “Why didn’t he say we were here?”

“To spare us.”

“Why? Why do we have to be spared whenever something happens? That’s not the truth. We didn’t have to be spared if they were playing dance music!”

“They had the radio on,” Grandmother said. “Just the radio. They were waiting for the weather and the news—to find out if the police were after them.”

“You can’t fool me!” Sophia shouted. “There isn’t any news at one o’clock in the morning. They were having a party and having fun, and we missed it!”

“Have it your own way,” Grandmother said angrily. “They had a party and a lot of fun. But we don’t go to parties with just anyone.”

“I do,” said Sophia defiantly. “I go to parties with just anyone, as long as I can dance! Papa and I both do!”

“Well, then, go ahead,” Grandmother said, and started to walk away along the shore. “Go to a party with crooks if you want. As long as your legs hold out—that’s the main thing. You don’t care about anything else.”

The boat had thrown its garbage overboard, expensive garbage that showed exactly what they’d been doing. Most of it had washed up on the rocks.

“Orange peels and candy wrappers. And crayfish!” said Sophia with emphasis.

“Crooks are famous for eating crayfish,” Grandmother observed. “Didn’t you know that?” She was tired of the whole business and had a feeling the conversation should have been used for some more instructive purpose. And, for that matter, why shouldn’t crooks eat crayfish?

“You’re saying the wrong thing,” Sophia said. “Now, think for a minute. I was saying that Papa had a crayfish party with the crooks and forgot about us. That was how the whole thing started.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Grandmother said. “Make up something for yourself then, if you don’t believe my story.”

An empty bottle of Old Smuggler was bumping gently against a rock. It was quite possible that he hadn’t forgotten at all, that he just thought it was nice to be on his own. Perfectly understandable, actually.

“Now I know,” Sophia burst out. “They gave him a sleeping potion. Just when he was about to go get us, they put a pinch of sleeping powder in his glass, and that’s why he’s sleeping so late!”

“Nembutal,” Grandmother suggested. Grandmother liked to sleep. Sophia stared at her with wide-open eyes. “Don’t say that!” she screamed. “What if he never wakes up!” She turned around and started to run. She was crying out loud in terror, and she turned and jumped and started running, and right then, right there, on top of a rock, held down with a stone, was a huge box of chocolates. It was a great big pink-and-green package tied with silver ribbon. The bright colors made the rest of the island look grayer than ever, and there was no doubt that the wonderful box was a present. There was a little card inside the bow. Grandmother put on her glasses and read it to herself. “Love and kisses to those too old and too young to come to the party.” “How tactless!” she muttered through her teeth.

“What does it say? What did they write?” Sophia shouted.

“It says,” her grandmother said, “what it says is: ‘We have behaved very badly, and it’s all our fault. Forgive us if you can.’”

“Can we?” Sophia asked.

“No,” said Grandmother.

“Yes. We ought to forgive them. In fact, you should always forgive crooks. How nice they really were crooks after all. Do you think the chocolates are poisoned?”

“No, I don’t think so. And that sleeping powder was probably pretty weak.”

“Poor Papa,” Sophia sighed. “He just barely escaped.”“Poor Papa,” Sophia sighed. “He just barely escaped.”

And indeed he had. He had a headache all day long and could neither eat nor work.