-scuttle, or whatever may be the name of that vile ladder that
leads to the regions below."

"Surely," exclaimed Jack in surprise, seizing the ghost by the shoulders
and looking close into its face, "I have heard your voice before now,
and, eh?--no, I don't know you."

"Yes, Philosopher Jack, you do know me," returned the ghost; "I've had
the honour of playing cricket with you on the green, though you've
forgotten me, and no wonder, for I've suffered much from bad air and
sea-sickness of late. My name is Walter, more familiarly Watty
Wilkins."

"Little Wilkins!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise, "well, you _are_ changed;
you don't mean to say that you've run away from home?"

"That's just what I've done," said the poor lad in a tone of
despondency; "but you've no occasion to shake your head at me so
solemnly, for, to all appearance, you have run away too."

"No, Wilkins, you are wrong, I have walked away, being my own master,
and I have done it openly, though I admit somewhat hastily--"

Jack was interrupted at that moment by Ben Trench laying a hand on his
shoulder.

"It strikes me," he said, in some surprise, "that I recognise the voice
of a townsman--Mister Jack, if I mistake not?"

"No, sir," replied the philosopher, "not _Mister_, only Edwin Jack,
seaman aboard the _Lively Poll_. You are right, however, in styling me
townsman. Allow me to introduce you to another townsman, Mr Watty
Wilkins, stowaway on board of the same vessel!"

Trench had not, in the darkness, recognised his friend. He now seized
him by both shoulders, and peering into his face, said--

"O Watty, Watty, have you really done it? I had thought better of you."

"I _said_ I would do it, and I've _done_ it," returned the little youth
somewhat testily; "and now I want to know what is to be done next."

"Report yourself and take the consequences," said Jack, promptly.

This advice being seconded by Ben Trench, Watty Wilkins went aft to the
captain, who had just come on deck, touched his cap, and confessed
himself.

For some moments the captain spoke not a word, but looked at the young
culprit with a portentous frown. Then, uttering something like a deep
bass growl, he ordered the lad to follow him into his private cabin.
When there, Captain Samson seated himself on a locker, and with a hand
on each knee, glared at his prisoner so long and so fiercely from under
his shaggy brows, that Watty, in spite of his recklessness, began to
feel u