nd, Tresco jumped into the water and, ordering the fishermen to do the
same, the boat was quickly pulled high and dry.

"Take out the bags," commanded the pseudo-skipper.

The men demurred.

"Why you do this? Santa Maria! is alla these mail go back to town?"

"_There's_ the steamer--_out there_!" exclaimed Rock Cod. "A man'd
think----"

But he was cut short.

"You saw Mr. Crookenden put the bags aboard. He's the contractor--I'm
only acting under his instructions. Do you wish to remain fishermen all
your lives, or would you rather die rich?"

"We know the value of dollars, you may bet that," answered Rock Cod.

"Then lend a hand and get these bags ashore. And you, Macaroni, collect
driftwood for a fire."

When the mail-bags were all landed, Benjamin took a lantern from the
boat, lit it, and walked up the beach to where the fishermen stood,
nonplussed and wondering.

"Your feet must be wet, Macaroni."

"_Si, signor._"

"Wet feet are bad, not to say dangerous. Go down to the boat, and you'll
find a bottle of rum and a pannikin. Bring them here, and we'll have a
dram all round."

Tresco placed the lantern on the sand, and waited.

"You see, Rock Cod, there are some things in this world that cut both
ways. To do a great good we must do a little wrong--that's not quite my
own phrase, though it expresses my sentiments--but in anything you do,
never do it by halves."

"I ain't 'ad no schoolin' meself," answered the fisherman. "I don't take
much account of books; but when there's a drop o' rum handy, I'm with
you."

The Italian came up the beach with the liquor.

"Here's what'll put us all in good nick," said Tresco, as he drew the
cork of the bottle, and poured some of the spirit into the pannikin.
"Here's luck," and he drank his dram at a draught.

He generously replenished the cup, and handed it to Rock Cod.

"Well, cap'n," said that puzzled barnacle, "there's things I don't
understand, but here's fun." He took his liquor at a gulp, and passed
the pannikin to his mate.

It took the Italian no time to catch the drift that matters were taking.

"You expecta make me drunk, eh, signor? You steala ze mail an' carry him
away, eh? Alla right, you try."

"Now, look here," said Tresco; "it's this way. These bags want
re-sorting--and I'm going to do it. If in the sorting I come across
anything of importance, that's _my_ business. If, on the other hand, you
happen across anything that you require, but which