looking at him dumbly, his lips all a-tremble with
naughty words.

"There, there," said his benefactor kindly. "Never mind about thanking
me."

Sam obeyed him easily, and departing in silence, went off raving to the
nearest boot-shop to buy more laces. Taught by experience, he put some
of his new stock in his pocket, and with a couple of pairs in his hand,
entered the next tavern on his beat.

The bar was pretty full, but he pushed his way in, and offering his
wares in a perfunctory fashion, looked round carefully for any signs of
Captain Gething.

"Outside!" said a smart barmaid with a toss of her head as she caught
sight of him.

"I'm goin', miss," said Sam, blushing with shame. Hitherto most barmaids
had treated him with kindness, and in taverns where his powers were
known, usually addressed him as "sir."

"Down on your luck, mate?" said a voice as he turned to go.

"Starvin', sir," said Sam, who was never one to trouble about
appearances.

"Sit down," said his new friend, with a nod at the barmaid, who was
still regarding the seaman in a hostile fashion.

Sam sat down and mentally blessed the reservation regarding free drinks
as his benefactor turned to the bar and gave his order. His eyes beamed
softly with a mixture of gratitude and amusement as his new friend came
back with a pint of ale and half a loaf of bread.

"Get through that, old chap," said the man as he handed him the bread;
"and there's some more where that came from."

He sat down opposite, and taking a long pull at the pewter, watched with
a kind smile to see the famished seaman eat. He noted as a strange fact
that starving men nibble gently at the outside crust first, and then
start on small, very small, mouthfuls of crumb, instinct rather than
reason probably warning them of the dangers of a surfeit.

For a few minutes Sam, with one eye on the pewter and the other on the
door, struggled to perform his part. Then he rose, and murmuring broken
thanks, said he would take some home to his wife and children.

"Never mind your wife and children," said his benefactor, putting down
the empty pewter. "You eat that up and I'll give you a couple of loaves
to take home to them."

"My 'art's too full to eat," said Sam, getting a little nearer the door.

"He means his stomach," said a stern but youthful voice which the
unhappy seaman knew only too well. He turned smartly and saw the face of
Henry peering over the partition, and beside it the g