me; and it doesn't seem fair to you to offer them as security. But I
tell you, dad," he declared, "if we don't make good in this trading
cruise I'll sell those things and do without 'em. It isn't fair, I
know--it seems pretty mean to you--it looks as if I didn't care for
what you've given me. But I do care; and you know I care. The trouble
is that I want awfully to go trading."

"It is the only security you have?"

"Except mother," said Archie. "But," he added, hastily, "I wouldn't--I
_won't_--drag a lady into this."

Sir Archibald threw back his head and roared.

"What you laughing at, dad?" Archie asked, a little offended, if a
quick flush meant anything.

"I'm sure," his father replied, "that the lady wouldn't mind."

"No," said Archie, grave with his little problem of honour; "but I
wouldn't let a lady in for a thing like that."

"Son," said Sir Archibald, now all at once turning very serious, "you
have better security than your pony and sloop."

Archie looked up in bewilderment.

"It is your integrity," Sir Archibald explained, gently, "and your
efficiency."

Archie flushed with pleasure.

"These are great things to possess," said Sir Archibald.

"Thank you, sir," said Archie, rising in acknowledgment of this hearty
compliment.

The lad was genuinely moved.

CHAPTER XXIV

_In Which the Honour of Archie Armstrong Becomes Involved,
the First of September Becomes a Date of Utmost
Importance, He Collides With Tom Tulk, and a Note is Made
in the Book of the Future_

Sir Archibald began again to tap the desk with his finger-tips. Archie
strayed to the broad window and looked out upon the wharves and
harbour.

"Is that the _Black Eagle_ at the wharf?" he asked.

"The _Black Eagle_, sure enough!" Sir Archibald laughed. "She's the
White Bay and French Shore trader."

"Trade enough for all," Archie returned.

"George Rumm, master," said Sir Archibald.

"Still?" Archie exclaimed.

The sailing reputation of Skipper George had been in question through
the season. He had come within six inches of losing the _Black Eagle_
in a small gale of the last voyage.

"Who's clerk?" Archie asked.

"Tommy Bull, boy."

No friend of Archie!

"Sharp enough, anyhow," the boy thought.

Sir Archibald put his hands in his pockets again and began to pace the
floor; his lips were pursed, his brows drawn. Archie waited anxiously
at the window.

"When," demanded Sir Archibald, pausing ab