. A certain three weeks spent in an open cutter off
the coast of Zanzibar as a midshipman still remained a vivid
recollection.

"Tell us about it," said the children, and snuggled closer into the
shelter of the Torpedo Lieutenant's long arms.

The steamboats drew near the ship, and in the reeling stern-sheets of
the steam-pinnace the Indiarubber Man stood holding two small figures
by the collars--two small figures whose heads projected far beyond the
lee gunwale. They were Cornelius James and the young gentleman whose
valiant soul had yearned for shooting galleries and eke raspberry
puffs. And, horror of horrors! the little girls were laughing.

The picket-boat had no casualties to report, and as she went plunging
alongside, the Junior Watchkeeper (in sea-boots at the bottom of the
ladder) heard the Torpedo Lieutenant say:

"We cut their noses off and nailed them to the flying jibboom."

"And what happened then?" gasped the enthralled Freckles as he was
picked up and hoisted over the rail on to the spray-splashed ladder.

"And they all lived happily ever afterwards," murmured the Torpedo
Lieutenant absently. "Come on, who's next? One, two, three--on the
next wave. _Hup_ you go!"

At the top of the ladder to greet each small guest stood the mother of
Georgina, Jane, and Cornelius James. She had lunched on board with her
husband and had spent the early part of the afternoon fashioning a
garment for Father Neptune--

"That the feast might be more joyous,
That the time might pass more gaily,
And the guests be more contented,"

quoted the First Lieutenant with his twisted smile, as he tried it on.

The quarterdeck had been closed in with an awning and side curtains of
canvas that made all within as snug as any nursery. The deck had been
dusted with French chalk; bright-coloured flags draped the canvas
walls; the band was whimpering to start.

Cornelius James and his fellow sufferer were not long in recovering
from their indisposition; a glass of milk and biscuits soon restored
matters to the normal, and together they sallied forth to sample the
joys that had been prepared for them.

There were windsails stretched from the after-bridge to mattresses on
the quarter-deck, down which one shot through the dizzy darkness to end
in a delicious "wump" at the bottom. The after-capstan was a
roundabout, with its squealing passengers suspended from capstan-bars.
Each grim twelve-inch gun had a saddle strap