without stint, not giving us a mere glimpse like they did when we saw it
first."

"Oh!" ejaculated Fitz, drawing his breath between his teeth as he
recalled the dropping off to sleep of poor Bill Smith.

"It was not till sunrise, my lad, that I knew you were on board. You
had had an unlucky crack on the head which sent you down the
companion-ladder, and when my lads brought and laid you up on deck it
seemed to me the worst part of the night's business."

"Then why didn't you put me ashore at once?" cried Fitz. "You were
keeping me a prisoner here," and he looked from father to son, the
former where he had seated himself quietly by the head of the middy's
berth, the other standing leaning against the bulkhead folding and
unfolding the clean towel, with the bucket of water and tin-bowl at his
feet.

"Why didn't I put you ashore at once?" replied the skipper. "Say, why
didn't I put myself and men all in prison for what I had done? Well,
hardly likely, my lad. I couldn't afford it, between ourselves. There!
It was your people's fault. You may call it duty, if you like. Mine
was to save my schooner if I could--and I did. So now you know the
worst. Come; be a good boy and let Poole there wash your face."

"Oh, this is insufferable," cried Fitz. "You are insulting a Queen's
officer, sir."

"I am very sorry, sir," said the skipper coolly, "but I have got another
duty to do now, and that is to make you quite well. This is only a fast
trading schooner, but in his way a skipper is as big a man as the
captain of a Queen's man-of-war. He is master, and you have got to
obey--the more so because it is for your own good. Why don't I set you
ashore? Because I can't. As soon as I safely can, off you go, but till
then just you take it coolly and get well."

"Put me aboard the first ship you see."

"I shall put you where I like, my boy; so once more I tell you that you
have got to obey me and get well. If you go on like this, exciting
yourself, we shall have the fever back again, and then, mark this, the
words of truth, you will be too ill to ask me to write to your mother
and tell her how bad you are."

Poor Fitz's lips parted, and he lay back upon his pillow speechless and
staring with a strange, wistful look in his eyes, making not the
slightest resistance, not even attempting to speak again, as the skipper
laid a hand once more upon his forehead, keeping it there a few minutes
before he removed it.

"Not