ask
you to take me again."

"Won't trust you," said the captain. "Hallo, Bruff!" he continued,
patting the rough head of a great retriever dog which had just come
slouching into the room, carrying the said rough head hanging down as if
it were too heavy for its body, an idea endorsed by its act of laying it
upon the captain's knee. "Is it you who teaches your young master to be
so obstinate?"

The dog uttered a low growl as if of protest.

"Perhaps you'd like me to take you for a voyage, old chap," continued
the captain, pausing in his smoking to wipe the corners of the dog's
eyes with its ears. "You'd look well sea-sick in a corner of the deck,
or swung in a hammock."

Bruff showed the whites of his expressive eyes and uttered a dismal
howl.

"Don't be afraid, old fellow," said the captain. "I sha'n't take you,
nor your master neither, so you may both make the best of it."

"Don't say that, father," said Mark earnestly. "Take me this once. I
do so want to see China!"

"Here, mother," said the captain laughing; "take Mark up stairs and show
him your best tea-service, the one I brought home last year. Like to
see Japan, too, my lad?"

Mark frowned and bent his head over his book, while Mrs Strong shook
her head at her husband.

The captain rose once more, and laid his hand upon his son's shoulder.

"Come, come, my lad, don't fret over it," he said; "you have done well,
and I should like to give you a treat, but I can't take you to Hong-Kong
for many reasons. Your mother would not like it, I shouldn't like it,
and it would do you no good."

"But, father--" began Mark.

"Hear me out, my lad," said the captain gravely. "I say I want to give
you a treat, so I tell you what I will do. You and your mother shall
come aboard as we're warping out of the dock, or at Gravesend if you
like, and I'll take you down Channel with me. I've got to put in at
Plymouth, and I'll drop you there, or at Penzance, whichever you like,
and then you can come back to London by rail. Hallo, who's that?"

There was a ring at the old iron gate, and Mark rose and walked to the
window.

"A sailor, father."

"Sailor!" said the captain, rising. "Oh, it's Billy Widgeon! Tell the
girl to show him in."

Mark went out to speak to the servant, and the next minute the big front
door-mat was having a hard time as the sailor stood rubbing away at his
perfectly clean boots, and breathing hard with the exertion, staring
furtively