tonight. Now give me a hand with the
floats."

Frere, coming to the pier, saw Dawes strip himself, and piling his
clothes upon the stuffed goat-skin, stretch himself upon the reed
bundles, and, paddling with his hands, push off from the shore. The
clothes floated high and dry, but the reeds, depressed by the weight
of the body, sank so that the head of the convict alone appeared above
water. In this fashion he gained the middle of the current, and the
out-going tide swept him down towards the mouth of the harbour.

Frere, sulkily admiring, went back to prepare the breakfast--they were
on half rations now, Dawes having forbidden the slaughtered goat to be
eaten, lest his expedition should prove unsuccessful--wondering at the
chance which had thrown this convict in his way. "Parsons would call it
'a special providence,'" he said to himself. "For if it hadn't been for
him, we should never have got thus far. If his 'boat' succeeds, we're
all right, I suppose. He's a clever dog. I wonder who he is." His
training as a master of convicts made him think how dangerous such a man
would be on a convict station. It would be difficult to keep a fellow
of such resources. "They'll have to look pretty sharp after him if they
ever get him back," he thought. "I'll have a fine tale to tell of his
ingenuity." The conversation of the previous day occurred to him. "I
promised to ask for a free pardon. He wouldn't have it, though. Too
proud to accept it at my hands! Wait until we get back. I'll teach him
his place; for, after all, it is his own liberty that he is working for
as well as mine--I mean ours." Then a thought came into his head that
was in every way worthy of him. "Suppose we took the boat, and left
him behind!" The notion seemed so ludicrously wicked that he laughed
involuntarily.

"What is it, Mr. Frere?"

"Oh, it's you, Sylvia, is it? Ha, ha, ha! I was thinking of
something--something funny."

"Indeed," said Sylvia, "I am glad of that. Where's Mr. Dawes?"

Frere was displeased at the interest with which she asked the question.

"You are always thinking of that fellow. It's Dawes, Dawes, Dawes all
day long. He has gone."

"Oh!" with a sorrowful accent. "Mamma wants to see him."

"What about?" says Frere roughly. "Mamma is ill, Mr. Frere."

"Dawes isn't a doctor. What's the matter with her?"

"She is worse than she was yesterday. I don't know what is the matter."

Frere, somewhat alarmed, strode over to the little ca