earn all about a little boy (at least, he may be a
big man now), who was on board the ship Golconda, under the captain's
special charge. I can not help thinking that the child escaped; and I
got a little trace of something connected with him at Flamborough. I
durst not make much inquiry there, because I am ordered to keep things
quiet. Still, I did enough to convince me almost that my suspicion was
an error; for Widow Precious--"

"Pay you no heed, Sir, to any manoeuvring of Widow Precious. We find her
no worse than the other women; but not a blamed bit better."

"I think highly of the female race; at least, in comparison with the
male one. I have always found reason to believe that a woman, put upon
her mettle by a secret, will find it out, or perish."

"Your honor, everybody knows as much as that; but it doth not follow
that she tells it on again, without she was ordered not to do so."

"Bob, you have not been round the world for nothing. I see my blot, and
you have hit it; you deserve to know all about the matter now. Match me
that button, and you shall have ten guineas."

The two sailors stared at the bead of Indian gold which Mordacks pulled
out of his pocket. Buttons are a subject for nautical contempt and
condemnation; perhaps because there is nobody to sew them on at sea;
while ear-rings, being altogether useless, are held in good esteem and
honor.

"I have seen a brace of ear-rings like it," said old Joe, wading through
deep thought. "Bob, you knows who was a-wearing of 'em."

"A score of them fishermen, like enough," cautious Bob answered; for
he knew what his father meant, but would not speak of the great
free-trader; for Master Mordacks might even be connected with the
revenue. "What use to go on about such gear? His honor wanteth to hear
of buttons, regulation buttons by the look of it, and good enough for
Lord Nelson. Will you let us take the scantle, and the rig of it, your
honor?"

"By all means, if you can do so, my friend; but what have you to do it
with?"

"Hold on a bit, Sir, and you shall see." With these words Bob clapped
a piece of soft York bread into the hollow of his broad brown palm,
moistened it with sugary dregs of ale, such as that good city loves, and
kneading it firmly with some rapid flits of thumb, tempered and
enriched it nobly with the mellow juice of quid. Treated thus, it took
consistence, plastic, docile, and retentive pulp; and the color was
something like that of gold