"But he's tired of it now, Andra. I say, Watty, look here; you're
smothering me with that fluff!"

"Then she should get ower to ta ither side of ta fessel."

"I'll knock you to the other side of the vessel if you're saucy!" cried
Steve hotly. "See if I speak to the captain for you now!"

"She dinna want ye to speak. She can speak her ainsel' when she wants,
and she ton't want; for she'll stop in ta galley the noo till we get
pack to Glasgie and goo pefore ta magistrates aboot it. There!"

This last word was accompanied by a handful of down thrown in the air so
that it might be wafted right over Steve.

This was too much for the boy's equanimity, and, hot with passion, he
snatched a handful of the down from the pail and rubbed it in Watty's
shock head, to Andrew's great delight.

"Weel tone, laddie!" he cried; "tat's ponnie. Gie her anither handfu'
of the saft doon."

Now, for some time past Watty, for reasons best known to himself, had
been nursing up feelings of the nature that would, in other conditions,
have developed into a regular Highland feud. He was jealous of Steve in
every way. It annoyed him that a boy younger than he should be dressed
better, work less, and live in the cabin, while he had to share the
meals of the men when the cook did not make him eat in the galley. In
addition, after long brooding over what he called his "wrangs," and in
his dislike to the lad who had shown himself to be more plucky, and
brought him, as he called it, to shame, he had nursed up the idea that
Steve was only a coward at heart, that all his acts were put on for
show, and that if he could only find a chance he would risk getting into
trouble if it should reach the captain's ears, and give the object of
his dislike a good thrashing.

And now the opportunity had come, and there was plenty of excuse. Steve
had dared to rub all that down into his sacred, well-greased, red locks;
and springing up and looking as if his "ploot really tit poil," he swung
round the goose he was plucking, and, using it as if it were an elastic
war-club, he brought it with excellent aim bang against Steve's head.

More blood began to boil now, for, with a cry of rage at what,
forgetting his own provocation, he looked upon as a daring insult, Steve
ran two or three steps--ran away, Watty thought; and exulting in his
imaginary triumph, he followed to strike his adversary again with his
absurd weapon; but to his utter astonishment, befor