ey were intended for him. A fourth piece, better
aimed, put the matter beyond all reasonable doubt, and, looking up
sharply, he caught the watchman in the act of launching the fifth.

"Hullo, old 'un," said George, cheerfully, "I thought you was asleep."

"You thought wrong, then," said the mate, sourly; "don't you do that
ag'in."

"Why, did I 'urt you?" said the other, surprised at his tone.

"Next time you want to chuck coal at anybody," continued Ben, with
dignity, "pick out one o' the 'ands; mates don't like 'aving coal
chucked at 'em by watchmen."

"Look who we are," gasped the petrified George. "Look who we are," he
repeated, helplessly. "Look who we are."

"Keep your place, watchman," said the mate, severely; "keep your place,
and I'll keep mine."

The watchman regarded him for some time in genuine astonishment, and
then, taking his old seat on the post, thrust his hands in his pockets,
and gave utterance to this shocking heresy, "Mates ain't nothing."

"You mind your business, watchman," said the nettled Ben, "and I'll mind
mine."

"You don't know it," retorted the other, breathing heavily; "be--sides,
you don't look like a mate. I wouldn't chuck coal at a _real_ mate."

He said no more, but sat gazing idly up and down the river with a face
from which all expression had been banished, except when at intervals
his gaze rested upon the mate, when it lit up with an expression of
wonder and joy which made the muscles ache with the exercise.

He was interrupted in this amusement by the sound of footsteps and
feminine voices behind him; the indefatigable Tippings were paying
another of their informal visits, and, calmly ignoring his presence,
came to the edge of the jetty and discussed ways and means of boarding
the schooner.

"Mr. Fraser's gone," said the watchman, politely and loudly, "there's
a new skipper now, and that tall, fine, 'andsome, smart, good-looking
young feller down there is the new mate."

The new mate, looking up fiercely, acknowledged the introduction with
an inhospitable stare, a look which gave way to one of anxiety as
Mrs. Tipping, stepping into the rigging, suddenly lost her nerve,
and, gripping it tightly, shook it in much the same fashion as a stout
bluebottle shakes the web of a spider.

"Hold tight, mar," cried her daughter, excitedly.

The watchman stepped into the rigging beside her, and patted her
soothingly on the back; the mate, coming to the side, took her foot and
a