ger, and patting him on the
shoulder, "I would advise you strongly to go back."

"Oh! sir, but I can't," said Peekins dolefully. "I dursn't. My life is
miserable there. Mr Denham is so 'ard on me that I feels like to die
every time I sees 'im. It ain't o' no use" (here Peekins became wildly
desperate), "I _won't_ go back; 'cause if I do I'm sure to die slow; an'
I'd rather die quick at once and be done with it."

Bax opened his eyes very wide at this. It revealed a state of things
that he had never before imagined. Tommy Bogey puffed so large a cloud
that his face was quite concealed by it, and muttered "you _air_ a rum
'un!"

"Where d'ye stop, boy?" inquired Bax.

"In lodgin's in Fenchurch Street."

"D'ye owe 'em anything at the office?"

"No, nothin'; they owes me seventeen and six."

"D'ye want it very much?"

"O no, I don't mind _that_, bless ye," said Peekins, earnestly.

"What d'ye mean to do?" inquired Bax.

"Go with _you_--to sea," replied the tiger, promptly.

"But I'm not going to sea."

"Then, I'll go with you wherever you please. I like you," said the boy,
springing suddenly to his side and grasping his hand, "I've no one in
the world to care for but you. I never heard any one speak like you.
If you'll only let me be your servant, I'll go with you to the end of
the world, and--and--"

Here poor Peekins was again overcome.

"Bray_vo_!" shouted Tommy Bogey in admiration. "You're not such a bad
fellow after all."

"Poor boy," said Bax, stroking the tiger's head, "you are willing to
trust too easily to a weak and broken reed. But, come, I'll take you to
the coast. Better to go there, after all, than stop with such a
tender-hearted Christian as Mr Denham. Here, take a bit of dinner."

Having tasted no food since breakfast, Peekins gladly accepted the
invitation, and ate heartily of the remnants of the meal, to the great
satisfaction of his companions, especially of Tommy, who regarded him as
one might regard a pet canary or rabbit, which requires to be fed
plenteously and handled with extreme gentleness and care.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE "HOVEL" ON DEAL BEACH--A STORM BREWING--PLANS TO CIRCUMVENT THE
SMUGGLERS.

On a calm, soft, beautiful evening, about a week after the events
narrated in the last chapter, Guy Foster issued from Sandhill Cottage,
and took his way towards the beach of Deal.

It was one of those inexpressibly sweet, motionless evenings, in which
one is inclined,