will all
go to ruin now."

"Morgan!"

We both started and looked round to see my father standing in the rough
porch of rugged oak-wood.

The man went up to him.

"You have made me uneasy about all this," he said, thoughtfully. "I
will go on board the schooner, and see who is there among my neighbours.
I should like to interfere if I could."

"Better not, sir. May make bad blood after."

"Morgan!" cried my father, so sternly that the man drew himself up as if
he were on parade, and his old officer were in uniform. "Do not forget
yourself, sir. Go and unloose the boat. You can row me on board."

Morgan saluted and went away, while my father began to walk up and down
the sandy path among his flowers. I waited a bit, and then went
hesitatingly up to him. For a few minutes he did not notice me, and I
saw that his lips were pressed close together, and his brow wrinkled.

"Ah, George," he said at last, and he laid his hand upon my shoulder.

"Going out in the boat, father?"

"Yes, my boy."

"Take me too."

He looked at me quickly, and shook his head.

"But I should like to go, father."

"My boy," he said, "I am going on board a ship lying in the river--a
vessel used by cruel-hearted men for trafficking in their
fellow-creatures."

"Yes, I know, father," I said; "a slaver."

He frowned a little, but went on.

"I am going to see if I can do any good among my friends and neighbours.
It would be no proper sight for you."

I felt disappointed, but when my father spoke in that firm, quiet way, I
knew that he meant every word he said, and I remained silent, but
followed him as he took his hat and stick and walked slowly down to the
little landing-place, where Morgan was already seated in the boat with
the painter held in one hand, passed just round the trunk of the nearest
tree, and ready to slip as soon as my father stepped on board.

A slight motion of an oar sent the stern of the boat close in to the
bank, my father stepped in, the painter was slipped, and the boat
yielded to the quick current, and began to glide away.

But just then my father raised his head, saw me standing there
disconsolate, and said aloud--

"Would you very much like to come, George?"

"Oh, yes, father," I shouted; and he made a sign. Morgan pulled his
left-hand oar, and I forced my way through the dense undergrowth to
reach the spot where the boat was being pulled in, fifty yards down
stream.

It was hard work, and I