he door closed behind us with a decisive bang, and poor Mary Ellen was
left in the torture-chamber with Mrs. Handsomebody and the stuffed birds.

III

Angel and I scurried up the stairway. We could hear The Seraph panting as
he laboured after us.

Once in the haven of our little room we rolled in a confused heap on the
bed, scuffling indiscriminately. It was a favourite punishment with Mrs.
Handsomebody, and we had a suspicion that she relished the fact that so
much food was saved when we went dinnerless. At any rate, we were not
allowed to make up the deficiency at tea-time.

We always passed the hours of our confinement on the bed, for the room was
very small and the one window stared blankly at the window of an unused
room in the Peggs' house, which blankly returned the stare.

But these were not dull times for us. As Elizabethan actors, striding about
their bare stage, conjured up brave pictures of gilded halls or leafy
forest glades, so we little fellows made a castle stronghold of our bed; or
better still, a gallant frigate that sailed beyond the barren walls into
unknown seas of adventure, and anchored at last off some rocky island where
treasure lay hid among the hills.

What brave fights with pirates there were, when Angel as Captain, I as
mate, with The Seraph for a cabin boy, fought the bloody pirate gangs on
those surf-washed shores, and gained the fight, though far out-numbered!

They were not dull times in that small back room, but gay-coloured lawless
times, when our fancy was let free, and we fought on empty stomachs, and
felt only the wind in our faces, and heard the creak of straining cordage.
What if we were on half-rations!

On this particular morning, however, there was something to be disposed of
before we got to business. To wit, the rank insubordination of The Seraph.
It was not to be dealt with too lightly. Angel sat up with a dishevelled
head.

"Get up!" he commanded The Seraph, who obeyed wonderingly.

"Now, my man," continued Angel, with the scowl that had made him dreaded
the South Seas over, "have you anything to say for yourself?"

The Seraph hung his head.

"I was on'y danglin' a bit o' stwing," he murmured.

"String"--repeated Angel, the scowl deepening, "dangling a bit of string!
You may be dangling yourself at the end of a rope before the sun sets, my
hearty! Here we are without any dinner, all along of you. Now see here,
you'll go right over into that corner by the win