d the innocent woman.

"It's a poor little mad boy," began the skipper; "he came aboard--"

"I'm not mad, father," interrupted Master Jones.

"A poor little mad boy," continued the skipper, hastily, "who came
aboard in London and said poor old Sam Brown was his father."

"No--you, father," cried the boy, shrilly.

"He calls everybody his father," said the skipper, with a smile of
anguish; "that's the form his madness takes. He called Jem here his
father."

"No, he didn't," said the mate, bluntly.

"And then he thought Charlie was his father."

"No, sir," said Mr. Legge, with respectful firmness.

"Well, he said Sam Brown was," said the skipper.

"Yes, that's right, sir," said the crew. "Where is Sam?" inquired Mrs.
Hunt, looking round expectantly.

"He deserted the ship at Withersea," said her husband.

"I see," said Mrs. Hunt, with a bitter smile, "and these men have all
come up prepared to swear that the boy said Sam was his father.
Haven't you?"

"Yes, mum," chorused the crew, delighted at being understood so easily.

Mrs. Hunt looked across the road to the fields stretching beyond. Then
she suddenly brought her gaze back, and, looking full at her husband,
uttered just two words--

"Oh, Joe!"

"Ask the mate," cried the frantic skipper.

"Yes, I know what the mate'll say," said Mrs. Hunt. "I've no need to ask
him."

"Charlie and Harry were with Sam when the boy came up to them,"
protested the skipper.

"I've no doubt," said his wife. "Oh, Joe! Joe! Joe!"

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which the crew, standing for
the most part on one leg in sympathy with their chief's embarrassment,
nudged each other to say something to clear the character of a man whom
all esteemed.

"You ungrateful little devil," burst out Mr. Legge, at length; "arter
the kind way the skipper treated you, too."

"Did he treat him kindly?" inquired the captain's wife, in
conversational tones.

"Like a fa--like a uncle, mum," said the thoughtless Mr. Legge. "Gave
'im a passage on the ship and fairly spoilt 'im. We was all surprised at
the fuss 'e made of 'im; wasn't we, Harry?"

He turned to his friend, but on Mr. Green's face there was an expression
of such utter scorn and contempt that his own fell. He glanced at the
skipper, and was almost frightened at his appearance.

The situation was ended by Mrs. Hunt entering the house and closing the
door with an ominous bang. The men slunk off, headed by Mr. Leg