buckled on. Then one each was
given to Bob Chowne and Bigley, and I was left without.

"Humph, twelve," said my father counting, as he saw me unarmed. "You
can take that new sword, Sep."

I could not help feeling pleased, for this was the officer's sword which
had come down with the others; and as I buckled on the lion-headed belt
I had hard work to keep from glancing at Bob Chowne, who, I knew, would
feel disgusted.

There was no time wasted, for my father at these drills kept up his old
sea-going officer ways; and in a few minutes we were formed into two
lines before him, opened out, proved distance with our swords, so as to
have plenty of room, and not be likely to cut each other; and there for
a good hour the sun flashed on the blades, as the sword exercise was
gone through, with its cuts, points, and guards, the men taking to it
eagerly as a pleasant change from the drudgery of the mine, and showing
no little proficiency already.

"There," said my father at last, after the final order to sheathe swords
had been given. "Break off. No pistol practice to-day. Your hands
will be unsteady."

"Always the way!" I heard Bob Chowne grumble. "I stopped on purpose to
have a bit of pistol-shooting, and now there's none. See if I'd have
stayed if I had known."

I had to run to the door of the great stone-built counting-house and
receive the swords as the men filed up, and for the next ten minutes I
was busy hanging all in their places.

When I had finished the men had all gone back to their work, and after a
look round, my father said a few words to a big black-looking
Cornishman, who had lately been selected as foreman from his experience
about mines, locked up the counting-house, and turned to us.

"Now, boys," he said, "we'll go back to the boat."

Bob Chowne's lips parted to say that he could not stop; but he had not
the heart to speak the words, and we went back to the beach, to enter
upon an adventure that proved rather startling to us all, and had a
sequel that was more startling, and perhaps more unpleasant still.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

WE LOSE OUR BOAT.

"We're going to take the boat again, Mrs Bonnet," said my father, as we
passed Uggleston's cottage.

"Oh, I'm sure master would say you're welcome, sir," said the rosy-faced
old lady. "It's a beautiful afternoon for a row."

Ten minutes after we were well afloat, and Bigley and I were pulling,
making the water patter under the prow of the