mber that mill."

"Then take my advice about it. Don't try to think at all."

"But I must think; I want to know."

"Oh, you'll know soon enough. You can't think, because you are very
weak now. I was just the same when I had the fever at Vera Cruz--felt
as if my head wouldn't go; but it got better every day, and that's how
yours will be."

"Did I catch a fever, then?" said Fitz eagerly.

"No," was the reply. "You caught something else," and the speaker
smiled grimly.

"Caught something else? And been very bad?"

The lad nodded.

"Then--then," cried Fitz excitedly, "Captain Glossop had me sent aboard
this ship to get me out of the way?"

"Well, not exactly. But don't you bother, I tell you. You are getting
right again fast, and father says you'll be all right now you have
turned the corner."

"Who's `father'?" said Fitz.

"That's a rum question. Why, my father, of course--the skipper of this
schooner."

"Oh, I see; the skipper of this schooner," said Fitz thoughtfully. "Is
it a fast one?"

"Awfully," said the lad eagerly. "You will quite enjoy seeing how we
can sail when you are well enough to come on deck. Why, if you go on
like this we ought to be able to get you up in a day or two. The
weather is splendid now. My father is a capital doctor."

"What!" cried Fitz. "Why, you told me just now that he was the skipper
of this schooner."

"Well, so he is. But I say, don't you worry about asking questions.
Couldn't you drink a cup of tea?"

"I don't know; I dare say I could. Yes, I should like one. But never
mind about that now. I don't quite understand why Captain Glossop
should send me on board this schooner. This is not the Liverpool
Hospital Ship, is it?"

"Oh no."

"How many sick people have you got on board?"

"None at all," said the lad, "now you are getting well."

Fitz lay looking at the speaker wistfully. There was something about
his frank face and manner that he liked.

"I don't understand," he said sadly. "It's all a puzzle, and I suppose
it is all as you say through being so ill."

"Yes, of course. That's it, old chap. I say, you don't mind me calling
you `old chap,' do you?"

"Well, no," said Fitz, smiling sadly. "You mean it kindly, I suppose."

"Well, I want to be kind to you, seeing how bad you've been. I thought
one day you were going to Davy Jones's locker, as the sailors call it."

"Was I so bad as that?" cried Fitz eagerly.

"Yes, horrid. Fathe