that holds it_!"

"You be goin' to do a bit of forestry on your own, Master Carnaby,
eh?" suggested the grinning owner of the grindstone.

"I am; a very particular bit, Jones!" replied the young master,
lovingly feeling the edge of the tool, which was now nearly as fine as
that of a razor.

"You be careful, sir, as you don't chop off one of your own toes with
that there axe," said the man. "It be full heavy for one o' your age.
But there! you zailor-men be that handy! 'Tis your trade, so to
speak!"

"Quite right, Jones, it is!" replied Carnaby. "Good-afternoon and
thank you for the use of the grindstone." He was already planning
where he would hide the axe, for he had precise ideas about everything
and left nothing to chance.

Carnaby went to bed that night at his usual hour. His profession had
already accustomed him to awaking at odd intervals, and he had more
than the ordinary boy's knowledge of moon and tide, night and dawn.
When he slipped out of bed after a few hours of sound sleep, he put on
a flannel shirt and trousers and a broad belt, and then, carrying his
boots in his hand, crept out of his room and through the sleeping
house. He would much rather have climbed out of the window, in a
manner more worthy of such an adventure, but his return in that
fashion might offer dangers in daylight. So he was content with an
unfrequented garden door which he could leave on the latch.

The moon, which had been young when she lighted the lovers in the
mud-bank adventure, was now a more experienced orb and shed a useful
light. Carnaby intended to cross the river in a small tub which was
propelled by a single oar worked at the stern, the rower standing.
This craft was intended for pottering about the shore; to cross the
river in it was the dangerous feat of a skilled waterman, but Carnaby
had a knack of his own with every floating thing. As he balanced
himself in the rocking tub, bare-headed, bare-necked, bare-armed,
paddling with the grace and ease of strength and training, he looked
a man, but a man young with the youth of the gods. The moon shone in
his keen grey eyes and made them sparkle. A cold sea-wind blew up the
river, but he did not feel its chill, for blood hot with adventure
raced in his veins.

Wittisham was in profound darkness when he landed, and the moon having
gone behind a bank of cloud, he had to grope his way to Mrs.
Prettyman's cottage, shouldering the axe. The isolated position of the
house alo