n used to
drive their hoops between them. And next, at fifteen, what must he do
but upset a bee-skip! A bee stung him, and all his hair came off, and
for three parts of his natural life be went about as bald as an egg.
To cap everything, he'd scarcely began courting when he lost his left
eye in a little job with the preventive men; but none of this seemed to
make any difference to the woman. Peters her maiden name was--Mary
Polly Peters; a little figure with beady black eyes. She believed that
all Captain Jacka's defects would be set right in another world, though
not to hinder her recognising him; and meantime the more he got chipped
about the more she doted on what was left of the man.

Everyone in Polperro respected the couple, for Mary Polly kept herself
_to_ herself, and Captain Jacka was known for the handiest man in the
haven to run a Guernsey cargo or handle a privateer, and this though he
took to privateering late in life, in the service of the "Hand and
Glove" company of adventurers. By and by Mr. Zephaniah Job, who looked
after these affairs in Polperro--free-trade and privateering both--
started a second company called the "Pride of the West," and put Captain
Jacka to command their first ship, the old _Pride_ lugger; a very good
choice, seeing that for three years together he cleared over forty per
cent. on the adventurers' capital.

The more was his disappointment when they built a new lugger, the
_Unity_, one hundred and sixty tons, and Job gave the command to a smart
young fellow called Dick Hewitt, whose father held shares in the concern
and money to buy votes beside. I've told you how Jacka swallowed his
pride and sailed as mate under this Hewitt, and how he managed to heap
coals of fire on the company's head. Well that's one story and this is
another. I'm telling now of the second boat, when Captain Jacka, or, as
you might say, Providence--for what happened was none of his seeking,
and the old boy acted throughout as innocent as a sucking-child--left
off shaming the company as honest men, and hit them slap in their
pockets, where they could feel.

The bottom of the quarrel was that Mr. Job, the agent, took a dislike to
Jacka. He was one of your sour, long-jawed sort, a bit of a lawyer,
with a temper like Old Nick, and just the amount of decent feeling that
makes a man the angrier for knowing he's unjust, especially when the
fellow that's hit takes it smiling instead of cursing; and more
esp