ckly done, and then Poole began to slowly wind up the
long line, giving every turn carefully and methodically so as to spread
the stout hempen cord as open and separate for drying purposes as could
be.

He took his time, dropping in a word or two now and then, apparently
intent upon his task, but keenly watching his companion all the while.

"Hasn't been too much for you, has it?" he said.

"No," replied Fitz; "not too much, for it was very interesting; but it
was quite enough. I don't quite know how it is, but I have turned so
sleepy."

"Ah, you are tired. Sit quite back, and I will draw the chair over here
into the shade. A nap till dinner-time up here in the air will do you
no end of good, and give you an appetite for dinner. There; the sun
won't be round here for an hour."

It was easily done, the cane legs gliding like rockers over the
well-polished deck, and the lad returned to his place to turn the winder
where he had stood the line to dry. This process was going on rapidly,
and he stopped bending over the apparatus to examine the hook and stout
snood, to see that it had not been frayed by the fish's teeth. This
done, he turned to speak to Fitz again, and smiled to himself.

"Well," he said, "it doesn't take him long to go to sleep," for the
tired midshipman's eyes were tightly closed and he was taking another
instalment of that which was to give him back his strength.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A QUESTION OF DUTY.

The wind was paradoxical. A succession of calms and light breezes from
adverse quarters--in short, as bad as could be for the schooner's
expedition.

But, on the other hand, the days grew into weeks in a climate that might
be called absolutely perfect, and from his first coming on deck and
helping in the capture of the bonito, Fitz Burnett advanced by steps
which became long strides on his journey back to health.

With the disappearance of suffering, away went all bad temper with the
irritation that had caused it. The boy had lain in his berth and
thought every night before going to sleep about his position and his
helplessness, and had fully come to the conclusion that though the
people among whom he was, skipper, officers and men, were in a way
enemies, he could not be held accountable for anything they did, and as
they had treated him throughout with the greatest kindness, it would be
ungracious on his part to go, as he termed it, stalking about on stilts
and making himself as di