thanking them in a very gruff voice indeed, turned
on his heel, and busied himself at his little cupboard. Peterday now
rose, and set a jug together with three glasses upon the table, also
spoons, and a lemon, keeping his "weather-eye" meanwhile, upon the
kettle,--which last, condescending to boil obligingly, he rapped three
times with his wooden leg.

"Right O, shipmate!" he cried, very much as though he had been hailing
the "main-top," whereupon the Sergeant emerged from between the
clothes-press and the dresser with a black bottle in his hand, which he
passed over to Peterday who set about brewing what he called a "jorum o'
grog," the savour of which filled the place with a right pleasant
fragrance. And, when the glasses brimmed, each with a slice of lemon
a-top,--the Sergeant solemnly rose.

"Mr. Bellew, and comrade," said he, lifting his glass, "I give you--Miss
Priscilla!"

"God bless her!" said Peterday.

"Amen!" added Bellew. So the toast was drunk,--the glasses were emptied,
re-filled, and emptied again,--this time more slowly, and, the clock
striking nine, Bellew rose to take his leave. Seeing which, the Sergeant
fetched his hat and stick, and volunteered to accompany him a little
way. So when Bellew had shaken the sailor's honest hand, they set
out together.

"Sergeant," said Bellew, after they had walked some distance, "I have a
message for you."

"For me, sir?"

"From Miss Priscilla."

"From--indeed, sir!"

"She bid me tell you that--the peaches are riper to-night than ever they
were."

The Sergeant seemed to find in this a subject for profound thought, and
he strode on beside Bellew very silently, and with his eyes straight
before him.

"'That the peaches were riper,--to-night,--than ever they were?'" said
he at last.

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Riper!" said the Sergeant, as though turning this over in his mind.

"Riper than ever they were!" nodded Bellew.

"The--peaches, I think, sir?"

"The peaches, yes." Bellew heard the Sergeant's finger rasping to and
fro across his shaven chin.

"Mr. Bellew, sir--she is a--very remarkable woman, sir!"

"Yes, Sergeant!"

"A--wonderful woman!"

"Yes, Sergeant!"

"The kind of woman that--improves with age, sir!"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Talking of--peaches, sir, I've often thought--she is--very like a
peach--herself, sir."

"Very, Sergeant, but--"

"Well, sir?"

"Peaches do--_not_ improve with age, Sergeant,--'and the peaches
are--riper than e