the main mast. Ah! I've seen some sights in furren
abroad, as what I've told you about's like nothing to 'em. Look here,
Mas' Don, shall I stop on for an hour and tell you what I've seen in
South America?"

"No, no, Mike; my uncle doesn't like you to be with me."

"Ah, and well I knows it. 'Cause I tells you the truth and he feels
guilty, Mas' Don."

"And--and it only unsettles me," cried the boy with a despairing look in
his eyes. "Get on with your work, and I must get on with mine."

"Ah, to be sure," said the scoundrel with a sneer. "Work, work, work.
You and me, Mas' Don, is treated worse than the black niggers as cuts
the sugar-canes down, and hoes the 'bacco in the plantations. I'm sorry
for you."

Lindon Lavington thrust his little account book in his breast, and
walked hurriedly in the direction taken by the man Jem, entering
directly after a low warehouse door, where rows of sugar-hogsheads lay,
and there was a murmur and buzz made by the attracted flies.

Mike Bannock stood with his hands clasping the handle of the crane winch
against which he leaned without moving, but his eyes were hard at work.

He followed Don with them till he had disappeared through the low dark
doorway, then glanced at the closed gate leading into the busy street,
and then at the open office door, a few yards away.

All was still, save the buzzing of the flies about the casks on that hot
midsummer's day, and without the trace of a limp, the man stepped
rapidly into the office, but only to dart back again in alarm, for, all
at once, there was a loud rattling noise of straps, chains, and heavy
harness.

There was no cause for alarm. It was only the fat, sleepy horse in the
trolly shafts, who, at the same time that he gave his nosebag a toss,
shook himself violently to get rid of the flies which preferred his
juices to the sugar oozing from many a hogshead's seams.

Mike darted into the office again; the flies buzzed; the horse munched
oats; the faint sound of Don's voice in converse with Jem Wimble could
he heard; then there was a faint click as if a desk had been shut down
softly, and Mike stepped out again, gave a hasty glance round, and the
next moment was standing dreamily with his eyes half-closed, grasping
the handle of the crane winch as Don returned, closely followed by Jem
Wimble.

"Now, Mas' Don, I'll just mark another," said Jem, "and we'll have him
out."

He took a lump of chalk from a ledge close by, an