Mark.

"Why, Mark, my boy, what a good idea! I think I'll borrow that dog and
take him to sea."

"Take him to sea, father?"

"Yes: he would be a treasure at clearing the deck of unwelcome
visitors--Chinamen or Malays."

"What, pirates?"

"Well, men who would be pirates if they dared: the low-class scoundrels
who haunt some of the ports."

"All right, father! you shall have him," said Mark.

"Then I will, my boy," said the captain, looking at his son curiously,
for he could not understand his willingness to part with his ugly
favourite. "He shall be well treated so long as he behaves himself."

"But you can't take the dog without his master," said Mark, smiling.

"Oh, that's it! is it?" said the captain. "I thought there was
something behind. Well, that was news for you," he continued.

"News?"

"Yes, that Billy Widgeon brought. I was afraid that we should be
crowded in the cabin and I was beginning to regret my promise to take
you; but Mr Gregory writes me word that a gentleman and his wife and
daughter who were coming with us as far as Singapore have backed out, to
go by one of the fast mail-boats, so we shall have plenty of room."

"That's capital!" cried Mark. "Mr Gregory is the second-mate, isn't
he?"

"First-mate now, my boy. He was second-mate, but my first-mate is now
in command of another vessel, and I was afraid he would take all my old
crew."

"But he does not, father, because that sailor said--"

"Yes; the crew stay with me to a man."

CHAPTER THREE.

HOW FIRST-MATE GREGORY DID NOT LIKE DOGS.

"Hullo! whose dog's that?"

It was a hoarse gruff voice, which made Mark Strong turn sharply round
just as he had crossed the gangway and stepped from the quay at the East
India Dock on board the _Black Petrel_, or Mother Carey's Chicken, as
the sailors often called her, a large ship conspicuous among the forest
of masts rising from the basin.

The speaker was a tall angular-looking man with a pimply face and a red
nose, at the top of which he seemed to be frowning angrily as if annoyed
with the colour which he could not help. He had turned sharply round
from where he was giving orders to some sailors who were busily lowering
great bales and packages into the hold; and as Mark faced the tall thin
man, whose hands were tucked deep down in the pockets of his pea-jacket,
the lad thought he had never seen a more sour-looking personage in his
life.

"Hullo, I say!" he cried again, "wh