here a bit you'll
feel like a new man. Mind me smoking a pipe?"

"No, Jem; smoke away."

"Won't have one too, Mas' Don?"

"No, Jem; you know I can't smoke."

"Then here goes for mine," said Jem, taking a little dumpy clay pipe
from one pocket and a canvas bag from another, in which were some rough
pieces of tobacco leaf. These he crumbled up and thrust into the bowl,
after which he took advantage of the shelter afforded by an empty cask
to get in, strike a light, and start a pipe.

Once lit up, Jem returned to his old seat, and the pair remained in the
same place till it was getting dusk, and lights were twinkling among the
shipping, when Jem rose and stretched himself.

"That's your sort, Mas' Don," he said. "Now I feels better, and I can
smile at my little woman when I get home. You aren't no worse?"

"No, Jem, I am no worse."

"Nothing like coming out when you're red hot, and cooling down. I'm
cooled down, and so are you. Come along."

Don felt a sensation of reluctance to return home, but it was getting
late, and telling himself that he had nothing to do now but act a
straightforward manly part, and glad that he had cast aside his foolish
notions about going away, he trudged slowly back with his companion,
till turning into one of the dark and narrow lanes leading from the
water side, they suddenly became aware that they were not alone, for a
stoutly-built sailor stepped in front of them.

"Got a light, mate?" he said.

"Light? Yes," said Jem readily; and he prepared to get out his flint
and steel, when Don whispered something in his ear.

"Ay, to be sure," he said; "why don't you take a light from him?"

"Eh? Ah, to be sure," said the sailor. "I forgot. Here, Joe, mate,
open the lanthorn and give us a light."

Another sailor, a couple of yards away, opened a horn lanthorn, and the
first man bent down to light his pipe, the dull rays of the coarse
candle showing something which startled Don.

"Come on, Jem," he whispered; "make haste."

"Ay? To be sure, my lad. There's nothing to mind though. Only
sailors."

As he spoke there were other steps behind, and more from the front, and
Don realised that they were hemmed in that narrow lane between two
little parties of armed men.

Just then the door of the lanthorn was closed, and the man who bore it
held it close to Jem's face.

"Well?" said that worthy, good-temperedly, "what d'yer think of me, eh?
Lost some one? 'Cause I arn't him.