and retired to the cabin, where she found a short note from the
skipper, enclosing her pay, and requesting her to take the train home.
After reading this she went ashore again, returning presently with a big
bundle, which she placed on the cabin table in front of Harris and the
mate, who had just begun tea.

"I'm not going home by train," said she, opening the bundle, which
contained a spirit kettle and provisions. "I'm going back with you; but
I am not going to be beholden to you for anything--I 'm going to board
myself."

After this declaration she made herself tea and sat down. The meal
proceeded in silence, though occasionally she astonished her companions
by little mysterious laughs, which caused them slight uneasiness. As
she made no hostile demonstration, however, they became reassured, and
congratulated themselves upon the success of their manoeuvre.

"How long shall we be getting back to London, do you think?" inquired
Mrs. Blossom at last.

"We shall probably sail Tuesday night, and it may be anything from six
days upwards," answered the skipper. "If this wind holds it'll probably
be upwards."

To his great concern Mrs. Blossom put her handkerchief over her face,
and, shaking with suppressed laughter, rose from the table and left the
cabin.

The couple left eyed each other wonderingly.

"Did I say anything pertickler funny, George?" inquired the skipper,
after some deliberation.

"Didn't strike me so," said the mate carelessly; "I expect she's
thought o' something else to say about your family. She wouldn't be so
good-tempered as all that for nothing. I feel cur'ous to know what it
is."

"If you paid more attention to your own business," said the skipper,
his choler rising, "you'd get on better. A mate who was a good seaman
wouldn't ha' let a cook go on like this--it's not discipline."

He went off in dudgeon, and a coolness sprang up between them, which
lasted until the bustle of starting in the small hours of Wednesday
morning.

Once under way the day passed uneventfully, the schooner crawling
sluggishly down the coast of Wales, and, when the skipper turned in that
night, it was with the pleasant conviction that Mrs. Blossom had shot
her last bolt, and, like a sensible woman, was going to accept her
defeat. From this pleasing idea he was aroused suddenly by the watch
stamping heavily on the deck overhead.

"What's up?" cried the skipper, darting up the companion-ladder, jostled
by the mate.