ey boarded us in the
dark."

"Yes, yes, that was it, Syd," said the captain. "Here, put that plate
on a tray, Broughton, and take it into the library. I'm very sorry this
has happened."

"All a mistake, sir, I'm sure," said the butler, taking the plate with
the hacked and torn-off portions of pheasant.

"Yes; don't say any more about it. Come, brother Tom; come, Sydney."

He led the way, but the jolly old admiral could not follow for laughing.
He leaned up against the larder shelf, and stood wiping his eyes; and
every time he got over one paroxysm he began again. But at last he
beckoned to Barney.

"Here, give me your arm, bo'sun," he said, "and help me into the
library; I feel as if everything were going by the board. Oh, dear me!
oh, dear me! Wait till I've buttoned this waistcoat. Well, it's a
lesson. Done for you, Syd, if you had been going to sea. Never attack
without proper signals to know who are enemies and who are not."

The supper was soon spread in the library, and Sydney was ravenous for a
few mouthfuls, but after that he pushed his plate away, and could eat no
more.

"What!" cried his uncle; "done? Nonsense! I can peck a bit now myself;
and, Harry, my boy, I must have a glass of grog after this."

The result was that Syd did eat a decent supper, and an hour later, when
all was still, he sat thinking for a time about the coming morning.
Perhaps more than that of the fact that neither his father nor his uncle
had shaken hands when they parted for the night.

Then came sleep--sweet, restful sleep--and he was dreaming vividly for a
time of a desperate fight with the French, in which he boarded a larder,
and captured a butler, footman, and a gardener. After that all was
dense, dreamless sleep, till he started up in bed, for there was a
knocking at his door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"May I come in, sir?"

"Yes; come in, Broughton," said Syd, recognising the voice, and the
butler entered with one hand bound up.

"That, sir? Oh, nothing, sir. Only got it in the scrimmage last night.
So glad to see you back again, Master Syd."

"Oh, don't talk about it, Broughton," groaned the boy. "My father
down?"

"No, sir; but he's getting up, and your uncle too. I was to come and
tell you to make haste."

"Yes, I'll make haste," said Syd; and as soon as he was alone he began
to dress hurriedly, with every thought of the blackest hue, and a
sensation of misery and depression assailing him that