let hastened by a yearning for nourishment, he
ran up on deck.

Day had just broken, and he found to his surprise that the voyage was
over, and the schooner in a small harbour, lying alongside a stone quay.
A few unloaded trucks stood on a railway line which ran from the harbour
to the town clustered behind it, but there was no sign of work or life;
the good people of the place evidently being comfortably in their beds,
and in no hurry to quit them.

The "Bruiser," with a happy smile on his face, surveyed the scene,
sniffing with joy the smell of the land as it came fresh and sweet from
the hills at the back of the town. There was only one thing wanting to
complete his happiness--the skipper.

"Where's the cap'n?" he demanded of Dowse, who was methodically coiling
a line.

"Just gone 'ome," replied Dowse shortly.

In a great hurry the "Bruiser" sprang on to the side and stepped ashore,
glancing keenly in every direction for his prey. There was no sign of
it, and he ran a little way up the road until he saw the approaching
figure of a man, from whom he hoped to obtain information. Then,
happening to look back, he saw the masts of the schooner gliding by
the quay, and, retracing his steps a little, perceived, to his intense
surprise, the figure of the skipper standing by the wheel.

"Ta, ta, cookie!" cried the skipper cheerily.

Angry and puzzled the "Bruiser" ran back to the edge of the quay, and
stood owlishly regarding the schooner and the grinning faces of its
crew as they hoisted the sails and slowly swung around with their bow
pointing to the sea.

"Well, they ain't making a long stay, old man," said a voice at his
elbow, as the man for whom he had been waiting came up. "Why, they only
came in ten minutes ago. What did they come in for, do you know?"

"They belong here," said the "Bruiser"; "but me and the skipper's had
words, and I'm waiting for 'im."

"That craft don't belong here," said the stranger, as he eyed the
receding Frolic.

"Yes, it does," said the "Bruiser."

"I tell you it don't," said the other. "I ought to know."

"Look here, my friend," said the "Bruiser" grimly, "don't contradict me.
That's the Frolic of Fairhaven."

"Very likely," said the man. "I don't know where she's from, but she's
not from here."

"Why," said the "Bruiser," and his voice shook, "ain't this Fairhaven?"

"Lord love you, no!" said the stranger; "not by a couple o' hundred
miles it ain't. Wot put that idea in