was drinking, letting fall both cup and
saucer on the dogs in her amazement, who scampered away, yelping at
their sudden hot bath.

"Mercy me! my boy!" and she fell sobbing in my arms, or rather on my
left arm, for my father had taken possession of my right hand with,

"Hang it all, Harry, do you mean to kill us all with fright? Why, my
dear boy, I don't know what to say, I feel so glad to see you. However
did you get home?" etc., etc.

It was some minutes before their nerves were restored, and I had time to
get a few words in edgeways between their greetings. They wanted me to
answer a hundred questions, without even pausing to give me a chance to
speak; but presently having satisfied them as to the chief points, I
thought it high time to fetch in my companion, whom I introduced as "Mr.
'Monday' Ducas, Skipper of the 'Happy Return.'" They quickly made him
welcome, taking him to be the Captain of the vessel I had come over in,
but remarked aside, that both he and I would look better for a wash and
a shave, while possibly a few inches off our hair would make us a little
more in accord with the usual mode of dressing hair in these parts.
Truly on peeping at ourselves in the glass we did look a couple of wild
men or North American trappers.

A tea was then prepared for us to which we did ample justice, but
everything seemed so strange. We had not been used to chairs, carpets,
window blinds, mutton chops, or even butter, but they soon came back to
us as old friends, who had long been absent but not forgotten.

We had a couple of bedrooms assigned to us, also a spare room, into
which, on the morrow, I meant to convey our whole cargo; but at present
I had neither mentioned our craft or its contents. These things I
reserved as a surprise for my dad in the morning.

After we had tidied ourselves I ventured to ask about Priscilla, upon
which my father beckoned me to another room, which greatly upset me.
Surely nothing was wrong with her; was she ill?

My father noticed my agitation as I asked, "Father, is anything amiss
with her? Don't tell me she is ill!"

"No, no, my boy, calm yourself, she is well enough, but----"

"Oh, go on, father, pray do! I can bear whatever you have to say about
her except that she has been untrue to me. If she has, I will find the
man who has stolen her affection, and----"

"Peace! peace, my son! and listen to me quietly. I believe she is as
true a girl as ever lived; but why did you not an