book on that shelf--no, not if you tried with a sledge-hammer, or a
hydraulic engine. Which is highly surprising when you consider that
fourteen books is the true, and exact number of books as I possess."

"Very remarkable!" said Bellew.

"Then again,--there's my comrade,--Peter Day (The Sergeant pronounced it
as though it were all one word). Sir, my comrade Peterday is a very
remarkable man,--most cobblers are. When he's not cobbling, he's
reading,--when not reading, he's cobbling, or mending clocks, and
watches, and, betwixt this and that, my comrade has picked up a power of
information,--though he lost his leg a doing of it--in a gale of
wind--off the Cape of Good Hope, for my comrade was a sailor, sir.
Consequently he is a handy man, most sailors are and makes his own
wooden legs, sir, he is also a musician--the tin whistle, sir,--and
here we are!"

Saying which, the Sergeant halted, wheeled, opened a very small gate,
and ushered Bellew into a very small garden bright with flowers, beyond
which was a very small cottage indeed, through the open door of which
there issued a most appetizing odour, accompanied by a whistle,
wonderfully clear, and sweet, that was rendering "Tom Bowling" with many
shakes, trills, and astonishing runs.

Peterday was busied at the fire with a long toasting-fork in his hand,
but, on their entrance, breaking off his whistling in the very middle of
a note, he sprang nimbly to his feet, (or rather, his foot), and stood
revealed as a short, yet strongly built man, with a face that, in one
way, resembled an island in that it was completely surrounded by hair,
and whisker. But it was, in all respects, a vastly pleasant island to
behold, despite the somewhat craggy prominences of chin, and nose, and
brow. In other words, it was a pleasing face notwithstanding the fierce,
thick eye-brows which were more than offset by the merry blue eyes, and
the broad, humourous mouth below.

"Peterday," said the Sergeant, "Mr. Bel-lew!"

"Glad to see you sir," said the mariner, saluting the visitor with a
quick bob of the head, and a backward scrape of the wooden leg. "You
couldn't make port at a better time, sir,--and because why?--because the
kettle's a biling, sir, the muffins is piping hot, and the shrimps is
a-laying hove to, waiting to be took aboard, sir." Saying which,
Peterday bobbed his head again, shook his wooden leg again, and turned
away to reach another cup and saucer.

It was a large room f