nty when his own was
ravening.

"Excellent youth," Mr. Mordacks said, "your tale might move a heart of
flint. All who know me have but one opinion. I am benevolence itself.
But my balance is low at my banker's."

"I want no money, sir," the sailor answered, simply offering benevolence
itself a pipeful of tobacco from an ancient bit of bladder; "I have not
got a farthing, but I am with good people who never would take it if
I had it, and that makes everything square between us. I might have a
hatful of money if I chose, but I find myself better without it, and my
constitution braces up. If I only chose to walk a league sou'west, there
would be bonfires burning. But I vowed I would go home a captain, and I
will."

"Ha!" cried Mr. Mordacks, with his usual quickness, and now knowing
all about everybody; "you are Mr. John Anerley, the son of the famous
Captain Anerley."

"Jack Anerley, sir, till better times; and better they never will be,
till I make them. But not a word to any one about me, if you please.
It would break my mother's heart (for she doth look down upon people,
without asking) to hear that Robin Cockscroft was supporting of me. But,
bless you, I shall pay him soon, a penny for a guinea."

Truth, which struggles through the throng of men to get out and have
a little breath sometimes, now and then succeeds, by accident, or the
stupid misplacement of a word. A penny for a guinea was as much as Robin
Cockscroft was likely ever to see for his outlay upon this very fine
young fellow. Jack Anerley accepted the situation with the large
philosophy of a sailor; and all he wanted from Mr. Mordacks was leave
to be present at the diving job. This he obtained, as he promised to be
useful, and a fourth oar was likely to be needed.

It was about an hour before noon of a beautifully soft September day,
when little Sam Precious, the same boy that carried Robin Lyth's note to
Mary, came up to Mr. Mordacks with a bit of plaited rushes, the scytale
of Nicholas the fish, who was happy enough not to know his alphabet. The
factor immediately put on his hat, girded himself with his riding sword
and pistol belt, and told his good wife that business might take him
away for some hours. Then he hastened to Robin Cockscroft's house, after
sending the hostler, on his own horse, with a letter to Bridlington
coast-guard station, as he had arranged with poor Carroway's successor.

The Flamborough fishermen were out at sea; and without