Bessie Watson, lord how you did go on!"
continued the mate, in a sort of ecstasy. The skipper stiffened suddenly
in his chair. "What on earth are you talking about?" he inquired
gruffly.

"Bessie Watson," said the mate, in tones of innocent surprise. "Little
girl in a blue hat with white feathers, and a blue frock, that came with
us."

"You're drunk," said the skipper, grinding his teeth, as he saw the trap
into which he had walked.

"Don't you remember when you two got lost, an' me and Kitty were looking
all over the place for you?" demanded the mate, still in the same tones
of pleasant reminiscence.

He caught Hetty's eye, and noticed with a thrill that it beamed with
soft and respectful admiration.

"You've been drinking," repeated the skipper, breathing hard. "How dare
you talk like that afore my daughter?"

"It's only right I should know," said Hetty, drawing herself up. "I
wonder what mother'll say to it all?"

"You say anything to your mother if you dare," said the now maddened
skipper. "You know what she is. It's all the mate's nonsense."

"I'm very sorry, cap'n," said the mate, "if I've said anything to annoy
you, or anyway hurt your feelings. O' course it's your business, not
mine. Perhaps you'll say you never heard o' Bessie Watson?"

"Mother shall hear of her," said Hetty, while her helpless sire was
struggling for breath.

"Perhaps you'll tell us who this Bessie Watson is, and where she lives?"
he said at length.

"She lives with Kitty Loney," said the mate simply.

The skipper rose, and his demeanour was so alarming that Hetty shrank
instinctively to the mate for protection. In full view of his captain,
the mate placed his arm about her waist, and in this position they
confronted each other for some time in silence. Then Hetty looked up and
spoke.

"I'm going home by water," she said briefly.

THE CAPTAIN'S EXPLOIT

It was a wet, dreary night in that cheerless part of the great
metropolis known as Wapping. The rain, which had been falling heavily
for hours, still fell steadily on to the sloppy pavements and roads, and
joining forces in the gutter, rushed impetuously to the nearest sewer.
The two or three streets which had wedged themselves in between the
docks and the river, and which, as a matter of fact, really comprise the
beginning and end of Wapping, were deserted, except for a belated van
crashing over the granite roads, or the chance form of a dock-labourer
plodding dogg