if any
poor fellow chanced to lay his morsel down and neglect it for the tenth
part of an instant, it vanished like a shot, and immediately thereafter
Jacko was observed to present an unusually serene and innocent aspect,
and to become suddenly afflicted, with a swelling in the pouch under his
cheek.

One day the men received a lesson in carefulness which they did not soon
forget.

Breakfast had been served out, and Phil Briant was about to finish his
last mouthful of biscuit--he had not had many mouthfuls to try his
masticating powers, poor fellow--when he paused suddenly, and gazing at
the cherished morsel addressed it thus--

"Shure, it's a purty bit, ye are! Av there wos only wan or two more o'
yer family here, it's meself as 'ud like to be made beknown to them.
I'll not ait ye yit. I'll look at ye for a little."

In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit
on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to
fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite. Just
then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out--

"I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it's beside you on the th'ort,
close under the gun'le."

"Is it?" said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated,
but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit. "Ah,
here it is; ketch it."

For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the
pouch with precision. That instant was sufficient for the exercise of
Jacko's dishonest propensities. The pouch was yet in its passage
through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the
unhappy Irishman of his misfortune. He did not require to be told to
"look out!" although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice.
An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul,
and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before
him--but not on the morsel of biscuit. At that same instant Jacko sat
down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek!

"Och, ye bottle imp!" yelled the bereaved one, "don't I know ye?" and
seizing a tin pannikin, in his wrath, he threw it at the small monkey's
head with a force that would, had it been well directed, have smashed
that small head effectually.

Jacko made a quick and graceful nod, and the pannikin, just missing
Ailie, went over the side into the sea, where it sank and was lost for
ever, to t