he gun to push into the mouth
of the gun, where it was rammed down with a long rod, before a big shot
was taken out of the rack close by, and rammed down the gun in turn,
which was then fired.

It was all new to Phil, and he saw neither harm nor danger in it. It
was nothing to him but going below to fetch that flannel bag, and he was
in profound ignorance of the fact that if it went near a light he would
be blown to pieces, while he could not have had a more dangerous task
than that of the powder monkey who fetched up the charges from the
magazine, where if a spark should fall the vessel would be blown to
atoms and sunk.

Phil was not afraid, for he could not see the danger, and he laughed and
liked to run up and down from the powder magazine to the main deck,
because the big bluff men always laughed and said pleasant things to
him. He was not afraid either on that day when Jack Jeens looked very
serious and sponged his face for him over a bucket of water.

"Why, you're as black as a sweep with the powder," said Jack. "I say,
didn't you feel frightened when the guns roared?"

"No," said Phil; "I only felt as if I should like to put my fingers in
my ears. That gun did make a noise."

Just at that moment a little serious-looking officer in uniform, with
only one eye and one arm, stopped short, took off his cocked hat, and
after putting it on again, laid the telescope he carried upon Phil's
shoulder.

"Why, you're the little fellow they call Phil, arn't you?" he said.

Phil nodded shortly.

"You're the little powder monkey, they tell me."

"Yes," said Phil, looking at the little man wonderingly.

"And you've been bravely nursing the boy who broke his leg, eh?"

"Oh, it isn't brave," said Phil, laughing and showing his white teeth.
"His leg hurts him very badly sometimes, and he likes me to read to him
then and tell him stories."

"Oh," said the officer; "then you read to him and tell him stories?"

"Yes," said Phil, "but I sha'n't read half so well as I should like; but
I am trying very hard."

"To be sure," said the little officer. "You are the sort of boy who
would. And you can tell stories?"

"Yes, three--I mean four; and Tom Dodds likes to hear them all over and
over again."

"Bravo!" said the little officer, tapping Phil on the shoulder with the
telescope. "There, be a good boy, and you'll get on and be something
better than a powder monkey one of these days."

"Who's that?" said Phil, as