warrant.

While Gascoyne was reading the letter to which we have referred, Keona
suddenly placed his left leg behind surly Dick, and, with his unwounded
fist, hit that morose individual such a tremendous back-handed blow on
the nose, that he instantly measured his length on the ground. John
Bumpus made a sudden plunge at the savage on seeing this, but the latter
ducked his head, passed like an eel under the very arms of the sailor,
and went off into the forest like a deer.

"Hold!" shouted Captain Gascoyne, as John turned in a state of mingled
amazement and anger to pursue. "Hold on, Bumpus, let the miserable
rascal go."

John stopped, looked over his shoulder, hesitated, and finally came back
with a rolling air of nautical indifference, and his hands thrust into
his breeches pockets.

"You know best, capting," said he, "but I think it a pity to let sich a
dirty varmint go clear off, to dodge about in the bushes, and mayhap
treat us to a pisoned arrow, or a spear-thrust on the sly.
Howsomedever, it aint no consarn wotever to Jo Bumpus. How's your beak,
Dick, my boy?"

"None the better for your askin'," replied the surly mariner, who was
tenderly stroking the injured member of his face with the fingers of
both hands.

"Come, Dick, it is none the worse of being inquired after," said Henry,
laughing. "But 'tis as well to let the fellow go. He knows best how to
cure his wound, by the application of a few simples, and by thus making
off, has relieved us of the trouble and responsibility of trying our
hands at civilised doctoring. Besides, John Bumpus, (if that's your
name,--though I do think your father might have found you a better,)
your long legs would never have brought you within a mile of the
savage."

"Young man," retorted Jo, gravely, "I'd have you to know that the family
of the Bumpuses is an old and a honourable one. They comed over with
the Conkerer to Ireland, where they picked up a deal o' their good
manners, after which they settled at last on their own estates in
Yorkshire. Though they _have_ comed down in the world, and the last of
the Bumpuses--that's me--is takin' a pleasure trip round the world
before the mast, I won't stand by and hear my name made game of, d'ye
see; and I'd have ye to know, farther, my buck, that the Bumpuses has a
pecooliar gift for fightin', and although you _are_ a strappin' young
feller, you'd better not cause me for to prove that you're conkerable."

Having deliv