ve heard that father died in saving another man. And that is
all I do know, for mother never speaks of it, and I can't keep boring
her with questions. How did it happen?"

"Well, no one knows exactly. So far as could be made out, some
pirate--some furrin sneak--got into his cabin while we were in port, and
got at his private despatches. He was imprisoned in the hold by the
captain's orders. The next day we were to make for Gibraltar, where the
spy was to be tried by court-martial. The next night was a dirty one--no
rain to speak of, but dark and blustery. While it was at its height, the
prisoner in the hold managed to escape, and jumped overboard. Your
father was one of the first to see him, and leapt after him. He reached
the poor wretch and held him till the boat put out; then a fiercer gust
of wind came, and they were separated. The spy was swept in the
direction of the boat. Your father was swept away from it. The spy was
caught up and dragged into it. Your father was never seen again. He'd
saved the spy's life at the expense of his own. There wasn't a man on
board the ship but esteemed--yes, loved your father. He was one of the
best skippers that ever walked a deck. What we felt afterwards, Master
Paul, can't be described. We felt just sick that he'd gone, and that
that sneaking, shivering furrin rascal had been saved. Some of the boys
would ha' lynched him, I think, only that he looked purty sick at that
time hisself, and they knew a court-martial was awaitin' him at
Gibraltar. Well, he were taken to Gib."

"And what happened?" asked the lad, as the old salt paused.

"What happened? Why, he got clean off!" cried the old salt indignantly.
"There was little or no evidence agen him. The one who knew all about
him, and what he'd been up to, was your father, and--and----"

Job Brice came to a dead stop as the back of his big, rough hand went
across his eyes.

"My father had gone to the bottom! Yes, yes, I understand it all!" said
Paul in a choking voice. "So they were obliged to release the man, and
he got off scot-free?"

"You've just guessed it, Master Paul! It makes me blood boil when I
think of it!"

Then he ended up, as he always did: "Ah, it's a dog's life, is the sea!
Don't you ever think of the sea, Master Paul!"

Paul knew from what quarter the final moral, with which Job invariably
favoured him, came. Usually he smiled; but there was no smile on his
face now. He could understand his mother's feelings