u--you don't like the name?" the boy asked, as he watched Paul.

"Oh, it's as good as any other, I suppose."

"You must have known some one of that name--I'm certain of it,"
persisted the boy.

"Well, I don't mind telling you, Hibbert--you've been such a good little
chap to me--it was through a man of that name my father lost his life."

"A man of the--of the name of Zuker?" stammered Hibbert.

"Yes."

"Tell me--do tell me--all about it?" pleaded the boy, clutching Paul
suddenly by the arm.

"Oh, it's a sad tale, and it won't interest you."

"Indeed it will--very, very much. Anything that has to do with you
interests me. Tell me."

Without intending to compliment Paul, the boy had paid him the most
delicate compliment he could have done. Besides, Paul was now very much
alone, and in his loneliness it was nice to have some one to speak to;
so he told his eager listener the tragic circumstances that had cost his
father his life. Hibbert scarcely spoke or moved all the time Paul was
telling the story. He hung upon every word.

"How noble of your father to jump overboard and save the man--the man
Zuker," said the lad, when Paul had finished. "There's not many who
would have risked their life to save an enemy. I think you said Zuker
was an enemy."

"Well, I don't know about an enemy. He seems to have been a wretched,
contemptible spy; but what's wrong with you?" he suddenly exclaimed, as
his eyes went to the boy's face. It was of an ashen pallor, and he was
trembling in every limb.

"Nothing wrong, except--except that I can't help thinking what a lot you
and your mother must have suffered after your father's death."

"I didn't suffer much, because I was too young to remember him. I was
only a little more than a year old when it all happened. Still, I should
so like to have known my father. They say he was very brave, and kind,
and true, and one of the best captains in the Navy; and when sometimes I
think of him, and what he might have been to me, I feel very bitter
against the man for whom he gave his life. Then I battle against the
feeling, and a better takes its place. I think to myself--What nobler
death could a man die than in trying to save the life of one who had
done him wrong."

"Yes, Percival," said the boy, looking away; "it was a noble death--very
noble--and your father must have been a noble man. What was it the spy
did?"

"Got into my father's cabin, and tried to get at his private
despatches