had brought John Gunter to the mission-ship in the earnest
hope that he would drink at the gospel fountain, but, after having got
him there, Joe found that, so far from drinking, Gunter would not even
go down to the services at all. On this occasion he said that he
preferred to remain on deck, and smoke his pipe.

Unknown to all the world, save himself, John Gunter was at that time in
a peculiarly unhappy state of mind. His condition was outwardly
manifested in the form of additional surliness.

"You're like a bear with a sore head," Spivin had said to him when in
the boat on the way to the service.

"More like a black-face baboon wid de cholera," said Zulu.

Invulnerable alike to chaff and to earnest advice, Gunter sat on the
fore-hatch smoking, while psalms of praise were rising from the hold.

Now, it was the little silver watch which caused all this trouble to
Gunter. Bad as the man was, he had never been an absolute thief, until
the night on which he had robbed Ruth Dotropy. The horror depicted in
her pretty, innocent face when he stopped her had left an impression on
his mind which neither recklessness nor drink could remove, and
thankfully would he have returned the watch if he had known the young
lady's name or residence. Moreover, he was so inexperienced and timid
in this new line of life, that he did not know how to turn the watch
into cash with safety, and had no place in which to conceal it. On the
very day about which we write, seeing the Coper not far off, the unhappy
man had thrust the watch into his trousers pocket with the intention of
bartering it with the Dutchman for rum, if he should get the chance.
Small chance indeed, with Joe Davidson for his skipper! but there is no
accounting for the freaks of the guilty.

The watch was now metaphorically burning a hole in Gunter's pocket, and,
that pocket being somewhat similar in many respects to the pockets of
average schoolboys, Ruth's pretty little watch lay in company with a few
coppers, a bit of twine, a broken clasp-knife, two buttons, a short
pipe, a crumpled tract of the Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen, and a
half-finished quid of tobacco.

But although John Gunter would not drink of his own free-will, he could
not easily avoid the water of life that came rushing to him up the
hatchway and filled his ears. It came to him first, as we have said, in
song; and the words of the hymn, "Sinner, list to the loving call,"
passed not only his outer