' Dat all, sar."

"That's all, is it? A pretty scrape you have got me into, you
scoundrel! What's to be done now?"

"Why, let's have a glass of grog first, Cockle," replied I, "we've been
waiting a long while for it, and we'll then talk the matter over."

"Bob, you're sensible, and the old woman was no fool in sending the
liquor--it requires _Dutch_ courage to attack such a Dutch-built old
schuyt; let's get the cobwebs out of our throats, and then we must see
how we can get out of this scrape. I expect that I shall pay `dearly
for my whistle' this time I wet mine. Now, what's to be done, Bob?"

"I think that you had better leave it to Moonshine," said I.

"So I will.--Now, sir, as you have got me into this scrape, you must get
me out of it.--D'ye hear?"

"Yes, Massa Cockle, I tink--but no ab courage."

"I understand you, you sooty fellow--here, drink this, and see if it
will brighten up your wits. He's a regular turnpike, that fellow, every
thing must pay toll."

"Massa Cockle, I tell Missy O'Bottom dat you come soon as you hab two
glass grog; 'pose you only drink one."

"That won't do, Moonshine, for I'm just mixing my second; you must find
out something better."

"One glass grog, massa, gib no more dan one tought--dat you ab--"

"Well, then, here's another.--Now recollect, before you drink it, you
are to get me out of this scrape; if not, you get into a scrape, for
I'll beat you as--as white as snow."

"'Pose you no _wash_ nigger white, you no _mangle_ him white, Massa
Cockle," added Moonshine.

"The fellow's _ironing_ me, Bob, ar'n't he?" said Cockle, laughing.
"Now, before you drink, recollect the conditions."

"Drink first, sar, make sure of dat," replied Moonshine, swallowing off
the brandy; "tink about it afterwards.--Eh! I ab it," cried Moonshine,
who disappeared, and Cockle and I continued in conversation over our
grog, which to sailors is acceptable in any one hour in the twenty-four.
About ten minutes afterwards Cockle perceived Moonshine in the little
front garden. "There's that fellow, Bob; what is he about?"

"Only picking a nosegay, I believe," replied I, looking out of the
window.

"The rascal, he must be picking all my chrysanthemums. Stop him, Bob."

But Moonshine vaulted over the low pales, and there was no stopping him.
It was nearly an hour before he returned; and when he came in, we found
that he was dressed out in his best, looking quite a dandy, and with
some of his