e slowly, "walked aft, and then
down into the cabin. The skipper woke up, and I heard 'im say something
to him."

"Say something to 'im?" repeated the bewildered Dodds. "Wot was it?"

"Well, I 'ardly like to repeat it," said Steve hesitating.

"Wot was it?" roared the overwrought Mr. Dodds.

"Well, I 'eard this chap say something," said Steve slowly, "and then
I heard the skipper's voice. But I don't like to repeat wot 'e said, I
reely don't."

"Wot was it?" roared Mr. Dodds, approaching him with clenched fist.

"Well, if you will have it," said Steve with a little cough, "the old
man said to me, 'Well done, Steve,' he ses, 'you're the only sensible
man of the whole bilin' lot. Sam's a fool, 'e ses, and 'Arry's worse,
an' if it wasn't for men like you, Steve, life wouldn't be worth
living.'"

THE LOST SHIP

On a fine spring morning in the early part of the present century,
Tetby, a small port on the east coast, was keeping high holiday.
Tradesmen left their shops, and labourers their work, and flocked down
to join the maritime element collected on the quay.

In the usual way Tetby was a quiet, dull little place, clustering in a
tiny heap of town on one side of the river, and perching in scattered
red-tiled cottages on the cliffs of the other.

Now; however, people were grouped upon the stone quay, with its litter
of fish-baskets and coils of rope, waiting expectantly, for to-day the
largest ship ever built in Tetby, by Tetby hands, was to start upon her
first voyage.

As they waited, discussing past Tetby ships, their builders, their
voyages, and their fate, a small piece of white sail showed on the
noble barque from her moorings up the river. The groups on the quay grew
animated as more sail was set, and in a slow and stately fashion the
new ship drew near. As the light breeze took her sails she came faster,
sitting the water like a duck, her lofty masts tapering away to the sky
as they broke through the white clouds of canvas. She passed within
ten fathoms of the quay, and the men cheered and the women held their
children up to wave farewell, for she was manned from captain to
cabin-boy by Tetby men, and bound for the distant southern seas.

Outside the harbour she altered her course somewhat and bent, like a
thing of life, to the wind blowing outside. The crew sprang into the
rigging and waved their caps, and kissed their grimy hands to receding
Tetby. They were answered by rousing cheers from th