ul fellow?" said Tomb.

[Illustration]

The lad hesitated. "My father . . ." he began.

"Dead," said Tomb, in a hollow voice.

"My mother . . ."

"Dead," Tomb replied, in a monotonous whisper.

"My brother and sister . . ."

Tomb raised a sorrowful hand: his heart was touched.

"My family . . ." said the young man in despair.

"My poor boy," said Tomb, with tears in his eyes, "my poor, dear fellow,
I killed them all not an hour ago."

[Illustration]

"Then my sweetheart would object to my becoming a Pirate," said the lad,
weeping.

"Enough," said Tomb; "you are called from henceforth Dingy David. Now to
sea!"

[Illustration]

For ten years they plundered upon the Spanish Main, until they acquired
so much money that Bilge Island, Tomb's business address, smelt of
hoarded gold, and the beach glittered with jewels.

[Illustration]

Then both Tomb and David--I am keeping the secret of his real name to
the end--became tired of so much adventure.

They had sailed in many seas: the Spanish Main--commonly known as the
Dining-room Carpetwaters--the Kitchen Archipelago, the Drawing-room
Inland Sea, the Creek of Conservatory, and the Lake of Passages. They
had roamed the Wilderness of the High Street, the terrors of the Gardens
they knew, and the Gulf of Front Hall was common water.

So they retired for a breathing space and a wash to that Island where
the neat cottage stood and the geraniums grew.

[Illustration]

They moored the _Inky Murk_ to a low-growing pom-pom tree, and then,
stepping carefully, like those unaccustomed to dry land (or wet land
either, for the matter of that), they gazed upon each other in silence.

[Illustration]

No one, not even the most careful observer, would have recognised in the
two dusty figures, the once spruce forms of Captain Thomas Tomb and
Dingy David.

[Illustration]

"Home!" said the young fellow, throwing a diamond at a wave-crest. (When
I say "diamond"--they were always finding them in corners of their
pockets.)

"Home once more!"

"Cinderadustmat!" exclaimed Tomb. "Let me hear you, oh! let me hear you
say the word again!"

"Home," said the young fellow, gazing at the ripe ockapillies hanging
overhead.

[Illustration]

Mastering his ill-concealed emotion, T. T. rose and strode--(when I say
strode--T. T. never walked: he strolled, strutted, strode, or stepped,
invariably)--towards the house.

[Illustration]

Threw open the door!! xxxxxx! o! z! Wh