out 'is glass to be filled agin.

"I do," ses Sam; "but I 'ope there's no ill-feeling. You never 'ad a
chance, neither of you; she told me so."

Ginger Dick and Peter Russet stared at each other.

"She said she 'ad been in love with me all along," ses Sam, filling their
glasses agin to cheer 'em up. "We went out arter tea and bought the
engagement-ring, and then she got somebody to mind the shop and we went
to the Pagoda music-'all."

"I 'ope you didn't pay much for the ring, Sam," ses Ginger, who always
got very kind-'arted arter two or three glasses o' whisky. "If I'd known
you was going to be in such a hurry I might ha' told you before."

"We ought to ha' done," ses Peter, shaking his 'ead.

"Told me?" ses Sam, staring at 'em. "Told me wot?"

"Why me and Peter gave it up," ses Ginger; "but, o' course, p'r'aps you
don't mind."

"Mind wot?" ses Sam.

"It's wonderful 'ow quiet she kept it," ses Peter.

Old Sam stared at 'em agin, and then he asked 'em to speak in plain
English wot they'd got to say, and not to go taking away the character of
a woman wot wasn't there to speak up for herself.

"It's nothing agin 'er character," ses Ginger. "It's a credit to her,
looked at properly," ses Peter Russet.

"And Sam'll 'ave the pleasure of bringing of 'em up," ses Ginger.

"Bringing of 'em up?" ses Sam, in a trembling voice and turning pale;
"bringing who up?"

"Why, 'er children," ses Ginger. "Didn't she tell you? She's got nine
of 'em."

Sam pretended not to believe 'em at fust, and said they was jealous; but
next day he crept down to the greengrocer's shop in the same street,
where Ginger had 'appened to buy some oranges one day, and found that it
was only too true. Nine children, the eldest of 'em only fifteen, was
staying with diff'rent relations owing to scarlet-fever next door.

Old Sam crept back 'ome like a man in a dream, with a bag of oranges he
didn't want, and, arter making a present of the engagement-ring to
Ginger--if 'e could get it--he took the fust train to Tilbury and signed
on for a v'y'ge to China.

THE BOATSWAIN'S MATE

[Illustration: "The Boatswain's Mate"]

Mr. George Benn, retired boat-swain, sighed noisily, and with a
despondent gesture, turned to the door and stood with the handle in his
hand; Mrs. Waters, sitting behind the tiny bar in a tall Windsor-chair,
eyed him with some heat.

"My feelings'll never change," said the boatswain.

"Nor mine either," said