ifty pun in gold. I don't want to be haunted."

"The parrot's a little better now, sir," said one of the men, taking
advantage of his hesitation, "he's opened one eye."

"Well, I only want to be just," repeated the skipper. "I won't do
anything in a hurry, but, mark my words, if the parrot dies that cat
goes overboard."

Contrary to expectations, the bird was still alive when London was
reached, though the cook, who from his connection with the cabin had
suddenly reached a position of unusual importance, reported great loss
of strength and irritability of temper. It was still alive, but failing
fast on the day they were to put to sea again; and the fo'c'sle, in
preparation for the worst, stowed their pet away in the paint-locker,
and discussed the situation.

Their council was interrupted by the mysterious behaviour of the cook,
who, having gone out to lay in a stock of bread, suddenly broke in upon
them more in the manner of a member of a secret society than a humble
but useful unit of a ship's company.

"Where's the cap'n?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, as he took a seat on
the locker with the sack of bread between his knees.

"In the cabin," said Sam, regarding his antics with some disfavour.
"What's wrong, cookie?"

"What d' yer think I've got in here?" asked the cook, patting the bag.

The obvious reply to this question was, of course, bread; but as it
was known that the cook had departed specially to buy some, and that he
could hardly ask a question involving such a simple answer, nobody gave
it.

"It come to me all of a sudden," said the cook, in a thrilling whisper.
"I'd just bought the bread and left the shop, when I see a big black
cat, the very image of ours, sitting on a doorstep. I just stooped down
to stroke its 'ed, when it come to me."

"They will sometimes," said one of the seamen.

"I don't mean that," said the cook, with the contempt of genius. "I mean
the idea did. Ses I to myself, 'You might be old Satan's brother by the
look of you; an' if the cap'n wants to kill a cat, let it be you,' I
ses. And with that, before it could say Jack Robinson, I picked it up by
the scruff o' the neck and shoved it in the bag."

"What, all in along of our bread?" said the previous interrupter, in a
pained voice.

"Some of yer are 'ard ter please," said the cook, deeply offended.

"Don't mind him, cook," said the admiring Sam. "You're a masterpiece,
that's what you are."

"Of course, if any of you've