e drew back with a sharp cry and looked nervously about him. _The bed
was empty_.

"Where's he gone?" whispered the trembling Bill.

"The other made no reply, but in a dazed fashion began to grope about
the cabin. It was a small place and soon searched, and the two men sat
down and eyed each other in blank amazement.

"Where is he?" said Bill at length.

The skipper shook his head helplessly, and was about to ascribe the
mystery to supernatural agencies, when the truth in all its naked
simplicity flashed upon him, and he spoke. "It's the mate," he said
slowly, "the mate and the cook. I see it all now; there's never been
anybody here. It was a little job on the mate's part to get the ship. If
you want to hear a couple o' rascals sized up, Bill, come on deck."

And Bill, grinning in anticipation, went.

"CHOICE SPIRITS"

The day was fine and the breeze so light that the old patched sails were
taking the schooner along at a gentle three knots per hour. A sail or
two shone like snow in the offing, and a gull hovered in the air astern.
From the cabin to the galley, and from the galley to the untidy tangle
in the bows, there was no sign of life to benefit by the conversation
of the skipper and mate as they discussed a wicked and mutinous spirit
which had become observable in the crew.

"It's sheer, rank wickedness, that's what it is," said the skipper, a
small, elderly man, with grizzled beard and light blue eyes.

"Rank," agreed the mate, whose temperament was laconic.

"Why, when I was a boy you wouldn't believe what I had to eat," said the
skipper; "not if I took my Bible oath on it, you wouldn't."

"They're dainty," said the mate.

"Dainty!" said the other indignantly. "What right have hungry sailormen
to be dainty? Don't I give them enough to eat? Look! Look there!"

He drew back, choking, and pointed with his forefinger as Bill Smith,
A.B., came on deck with a plate held at arm's length, and a nose
disdainfully elevated. He affected not to see the skipper, and, walking
in a mincing fashion to the side, raked the food from the plate into the
sea with his fingers. He was followed by George Simpson, A.B., who
in the same objectionable fashion wasted food which the skipper had
intended should nourish his frame.

"I'll pay 'em for this," murmured the skipper.

"There's some more," said the mate.

Two more men came on deck, grinning consciously, and disposed of their
dinners. Then there was an interva