he schooner's wake in full
charge of her stern fierce-looking French mate--one of the most silent
of men.

And while the Count was mostly with the doctor, literally taking lessons
in pelagic lore, the two lads had become inseparable.

"Look here," said Rodd, almost hotly, one day, "if ever you say a word
again about my helping you to escape at Dartmoor, you and I are going to
leave off being friends."

Morny laughed, a pleasant, almost girlish smile lighting up his well-cut
Gallic features.

"Why, Rodd," he cried, "isn't that rather hard? I used to think that
was the most horrible time in my life, but I feel now that one part of
it was the most delightful."

"There you go again," cried Rodd. "You are beginning."

"No, no, I wasn't. But I can't forget being a prisoner in England, and
about all that I went through there with my father when he was bad so
long with his wound."

"Bad so long with his wound?" said Rodd eagerly. "Ah! You may talk
about that. Yes, I should like to hear. Tell me all about your being
taken prisoners, and how it happened."

"For you never to be friends with me any more?" said the French lad
maliciously.

"No, no, no. But I hate for you to be what you call grateful. You are
quite a good sort of chap, and you speak our language so well that I
forget you are not English sometimes, till you begin to be grateful to
me for saving you, and then I feel that you are French. There, now you
may tell me all about it--I mean about before you met me fishing."

The two lads were under the awning upon this particular day just
amidships. It was a hot and breathless time, but both were pretty well
inured to the weather, and were so interested in the subjects supplied
to them by Nature in the way of floating wonders that they never
troubled themselves about the heat.

Upon this occasion they were lying together upon the deck, suffering to
a certain extent from lassitude consequent upon the heat. There was a
man at the wheel, and Joe Cross was seated upon the main cross-trees
with a spy-glass across his legs, ready to raise it from time to time
and direct it eastward to try and pierce the faint silvery haze that lay
low upon the horizon. The boys had grown very silent and thoughtful,
Moray trying to recall memories of the past so that he might respond to
his English friend's demand upon him that he should relate something of
his old experiences in connection with the war and his being broug