, and will explain how it comes that circumstances give color to
the charge. I have a brother, older than myself and father of a large
family. One day in April, a clerk in the sheriff's office, who is a
cousin, came to me at night to tell me that a spy who had attended a
meeting of the Liberal club, had laid an information that my brother had
spoken disrespectfully of the King, George the Fourth, and his advisers.
On the strength of this, a warrant was prepared for his arrest on the
charge of sedition. The spy had made a mistake in the first name and had
given mine instead of my brother's. My cousin said, if I would disappear
the prosecution would be baffled. To save my brother, for a prosecution
would ruin him, I fled at once, going to Troon, where I knew a ship was
ready to sail for Canada. On the officers going to my lodging to arrest
me, they found I had gone. How they came to know I had gone to Troon I
cannot say. Probably they sent word to all ports where ships were ready
to sail. As you know, I was arrested on board this boat and discharged,
because the magistrate had no authority to hold me. It was to save my
brother that I am here. What he said at the club I do not know, for I
was not there.'

'A plausible story,' said Mr Snellgrove, 'but you told a lie when you
answered to a false name before the Troon magistrate.'

'I told no lie,' answered Mr Kerr in a calm voice, 'for I was not asked
to plead, but I knew I could have saved myself and have sent my brother
to jail by correcting the mistake of the spy.'

Mr Snellgrove was about to say more when a murmur of disapproval caused
him to slink to his berth. My master came forward and taking Mr Kerr by
the hand said, 'I respected you before; I honor you now,' and all, men
and women, pressed to shake his hand.

After breakfast next morning there was much talk over our escape from
death, and the more light thrown on it in discussion the stronger grew
the feeling that we had been saved by the interposition of Providence.
Had the brig not struck the sandbank and done so at low tide, not a soul
would have reached land, and relatives would never have known what
became of the Heatherbell unless part of her wreckage was picked up.
There ought to be public acknowledgment of our rescue and expression of
our united thanks. The captain agreed it would be right, so, that
afternoon, all hands assembled, except Mr Snellgrove, who sat at the bow
pretending to read a book. The imp