abinet, knocking down a handsome Indian jar, which was
shattered to fragments on the oil-cloth; and from the cabinet springing
to the balusters of the first-floor landing of the staircase.

There he hung, swinging by first one hand, then by the other, so as to
get a good look down at his assailant, who was barking at him furiously
as Mark rushed out; but Bruff had not the brains to see that if he
rushed up stairs he could renew his attack.

"Got him safe?" said Billy Widgeon, as he swung by one hand as easily as
would a monkey, and unconsciously imitating one of these active little
creatures in the pose of his head.

"Yes; he sha'n't hurt you now," cried Mark.

"'Cause dogs' bites don't come in one's pay, eh, cap'n?"

"The dog's all right now, Widgeon," said the captain. "Here, Mark, shut
him in the parlour."

"All right, father! but he won't stir now."

"Come down, my lad," said the captain. "You can climb over the
balustrade."

"Bee-low!" cried the sailor in a gruff, sing-song tone, and loosening
his hold he dropped lightly on to the oil-cloth within a couple of yards
of the dog.

Bruff's head was pressed close down to the floor, but he showed his
teeth and uttered a growl like a lilliputian peal of thunder.

"Quiet!" cried Mark, as Billy Widgeon struck an attitude with his fists
doubled, ready for attack or defence.

"Lor', if you was aboard our ship, wouldn't I heave you overboard fust
chance!" cried the sailor.

"What did you do to the dog?" said the captain angrily.

"I never did nothing at all, sir. I only wanted my umbrella as I stood
up in the corner. Soon as I went to take it he come at me, and if I
hadn't done Jacko and nipped up there he'd have had a piece out of my
leg."

As he spoke he went to take the umbrella from the corner, when, looking
upon the movement as an attempt to carry out a robbery, Bruff uttered
another savage growl aid struggled to get free.

"All, would yer!" cried Billy Widgeon, snatching up his umbrella and
holding it by the toe in cudgel-fashion. "Now, then, youngster, lot him
go. Come on, you ugly big-headed lubber. I'm ready for you now."

As he spoke Billy Widgeon did Jacko, as he termed it, again, hopping
about, flourishing his weapon, and giving it a bang down upon the floor
after the fashion of a wild Irishman with his shillelagh.

It was a risky proceeding, for it infuriated the dog, who began to
struggle fiercely, while Mark laughed so heartily that h