t away from each other. It's being boxed up in this little craft
as does the mischief."

"S'pose we pretend the ship's not seaworthy," said the mate.

"Then they'd stand by us," said the skipper, "closer than ever."

"I b'leeve they would," said the mate. "They'd go fast enough if we'd
got a case o' small-pox or anything like that aboard, though."

The skipper grunted assent.

"It 'ud be worth trying," said the mate. "We've pretended to have a
quarrel. Now just as we're going into port let one of the hands, the boy
if you like, pretend he's sickening for small-pox."

"How's he going to do it?" inquired the skipper derisively.

"You leave it to me," replied the other. "I've got an idea how it's to
be done."

Against his better judgment the skipper, after some demur, consented,
and the following day, when the passengers were on deck gazing at the
small port of Summercove as they slowly approached it, the cook came up
excitedly and made a communication to the skipper.

"What?" cried the latter. "Nonsense."

"What's the matter?" demanded Mrs. Bunnett, turning round.

"Cook, here, has got it into his head that the boy's got the small-pox,"
said the skipper.

Both women gave a faint scream.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Bunnett, with a pale face.

"Rubbish," said Mrs. Fillson, clasping her hands nervously.

"Very good, mum," said the cook calmly. "You know best, o' course, but
I was on a barque once what got it aboard bad, and I think I _ought_ to
know it when I see it."

"Yes; and now you think everything's the smallpox," said Mrs. Bunnett
uneasily.

"Very well, mum," said the cook, spreading out his hands. "Will you come
down an' 'ave a _look_ at 'im?"

"No," snapped Mrs. Bunnett, retreating a pace or two.

"Will you come down an' 'ave a look at 'im, sir," inquired the cook.

"You stay where you are, George," said Mrs. Bunnett shrilly, as her
husband moved forward. "Go farther off, cook."

"And keep your tongue still when we get to port," said the mate. "Don't
go blabbing it all over the place, mind, or we shan't get nobody to work
us out."

"Ay, ay," said the cook, moving off. "I ain't afraid of it--I've given
it to people, but I've never took it myself yet."

"I'm sure I wish I was off this dreadful ship," said Mrs. Fillson
nervously. "Nothing but unpleasantness. How long before we get to
Summercove, Cap'n Bunnett?"

"'Bout a hour an' a 'arf ought to do it," said the skipper.

Both ladies sighed a