was that
little boy--I remember it like yesterday--came ashore here, and turned
out to be Robin Lyth; or at least to be no Robin Lyth at all, but the
son of Sir Duncan Yordas. And what happened to the poor man in Bempton
Warren."

"The poor man died a most miserable death, but I trust sincerely
penitent. He had led a sad, ungodly life, and he died at last of wooden
legs. He was hunted to his grave, he told us, by these wooden legs; and
he recognized in them Divine retribution, for the sin of his life was
committed in timber. No sooner did any of those legs appear--and the
poor fellow said they were always coming--than his heart began to
patter, and his own legs failed him, and he tried to stop his ears, but
his conscience would not let him."

"Now there!" cried Mrs. Upround; "what the power of conscience is! He
had stolen choice timber, perhaps ready-made legs."

"A great deal worse than that, my dear; he had knocked out a knot as
large as my shovel-hat from the side of a ship home bound from India,
because he was going to be tried for mutiny upon their arrival at Leith,
it was, I think. He and his partners had been in irons, but unluckily
they were just released. The weather was magnificent, a lovely summer's
night, soft fair breeze, and every one rejoicing in the certainty of
home within a few short hours. And they found home that night, but it
was in a better world."

"You have made me creep all over. And you mean to say that a wretch like
that has any hope of heaven! How did he get away himself?"

"Very easily. A little boat was towing at the side. There were only
three men upon deck, through the beauty of the weather, and two of those
were asleep. They bound and gagged the waking one, lashed the wheel,
and made off in the boat wholly unperceived. There was Rickon Goold, the
ringleader, and four others, and they brought away a little boy who was
lying fast asleep, because one of them had been in the service of his
father, and because of the value of his Indian clothes, which his ayah
made him wear now in his little cot for warmth. The scoundrels took
good care that none should get away to tell the tale. They saw the poor
Golconda sink with every soul on board, including the captain's wife and
babies; then they made for land, and in the morning fog were carried by
the tide toward our North Landing. One of them knew the coast as well
as need be; but they durst not land until their story was concocted, and
every