that chilled the very soul of Blair Robertson; but it was the
morning after the watch which had so changed his views towards his wild
associates, and he at once seized the opportunity to begin his new line
of conduct.

Blair had a large many-bladed Sheffield knife, which had been a present
to his father from an English captain. For several years it was hoarded
as a special treasure, and then on a Christmas-day found its way into
the pocket of the only son. Blair knew the worth and temper of every
blade, and its fit and appointed use. Not a boy in Fairport had such a
knife, as had been acknowledged on all hands. He had besides often
thought of it as no bad weapon in case of an attack from any of the
fighting crew of the Molly. "To stick a man," was in their estimation no
uncommon occurrence, judging from the tales of their adventures, which
they delighted to tell.

"Take my knife, wont you? It is a first-rate one," said Blair, handing
over his treasure as freely as if the sacrifice had cost him no effort.

Brimstone opened his round cat-like eyes in surprise; and then dropping
the knife into the depths of his pocket, said, "Green, green! You
expected to make a trade with me, I suppose. You can't come it. I never
swap."

"I meant to make you a present of it. You seemed so put out about your
knife's breaking," said Blair pleasantly. "A fellow does hate to break
his knife. An English captain gave that to my father five years ago. It
has six blades."

Brimstone took the knife out of his pocket and examined it slowly,
opening blade after blade with the air of a connoisseur.

"I say, youngster, it's a first-rate article. You meant a swap, now; own
up. What did you mean to ask me for it, if I'd been in the humor?"

"There is only one thing I should like to ask of you," began Blair.

"Ha, ha! I knew you meant a swap," said Brimstone. "There's no harm in
making a clean breast of it."

"I wanted to ask you not to swear those horrible oaths. I tremble lest
God, whose great name you blaspheme, should smite you dead with those
curses on your lips," said Blair earnestly.

Brimstone had the long blade of the knife open. He gave an angry thrust
at Blair, which the lad skilfully avoided, but without a shadow of fear
in his fine face. "None of that talk," exclaimed Brimstone. "We say
_what_ we please and _when_ we please on board the Molly. Mum's the
right word for you. We want no parson just out of petticoats here."

Blair w