at Mr Morgan, who was frowning and looked annoyed,
but who smiled at Mark as their eyes met.

"Here, Billy Widgeon, fetch one of the dock police," cried the
first-mate.

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the little sailor with alacrity; and he was in the
act of starting, while the stowaway was once more appealing piteously
and Mark was about to take his part, when a quiet firm voice said aloud:

"What's the matter?"

Mark's heart gave a bound, and for the moment he thought everything
would be set right in a humane way. Then, as he heard the chief mate
speak, he felt that it would be all wrong.

"What's the matter, Captain Strong!" thundered the officer.
"Everything's the matter. Here we've to sail first tide to-morrow, and
look at us. My cargo, that was all stowed, hauled all over the ship.
We've been ever since four o'clock getting him out, and now it's nearly
ten. And look at him--all hands unstowing cargo to get out a thing like
that!"

"Where was he?" said the captain sternly.

"Where was he!" roared the mate, who looked as if one of his legs was
quivering to kick the grovelling stowaway; "where wasn't he? Groaning
all over the ship; and if it hadn't been for that dog--"

"Ah! the dog helped, did he?"

"Yes, sir; smelt him out buried down below a thousand tons--"

"More or less," said Mr Morgan laughing.

"Well, I didn't weigh or measure the cargo, did I, sir?" roared the
first-mate. "Look at it, sir--look at it, captain. We shall be at work
all night re-stowing it, and then sha'n't be done."

"He was right down there?"

"Yes, sir; and if we hadn't got to him he'd have been a dead man in a
few hours; and a good job too, only see what a nuisance he would have
been."

"How came you to do this, sir?" cried Captain Strong, turning to the
man, who still crouched upon the deck.

"I wanted to get abroad, sir. Pray forgive me this time."

"You must have been mad," cried the captain. "Did you want to be buried
alive?"

"No, sir. I didn't think you'd fill up above me, and I thought I could
creep out by and by; but--but they stopped up both ends of the hole, and
then--then they piled up the boxes over my head, and it got so hot, sir,
that--that--I could hardly breathe, and--and--and, sir, I couldn't bear
it, I was obliged to cry for help; but I wish I'd died in my hole."

"Poor wretch!" muttered the captain; but his son heard him and pressed
nearer to his side, as he gazed at the stowaway, a man grown, but