) a line of dismal prison-hulks, now disused, moored head
to stern off a mudbank on the farther shore.

"Plain sailing, my lad," panted Mr. Jope, as the cornfield threw up
its heat in our faces. "See, yonder's Saltash!" He pointed up the
river to a small town which seemed to run toppling down a steep hill
and spread itself like a landslip at the base. "I got a sister
living there, if we can only fetch across; a very powerful woman;
widowed, and sells fish."

We took an oblique line down the hillside, and descended, some two or
three hundred yards below the ferry, upon a foreshore firm for the
most part and strewn with flat stones, but melting into mud by the
water's edge. A small trading ketch lay there, careened as the tide
had left her; but at no great angle, thanks to her flat-bottomed
build. A line of tattered flags, with no wind to stir them, led down
from the truck of either mast, and as we drew near I called Mr.
Jope's attention to an immense bunch of foxgloves and pink valerian
on her bowsprit end.

"Looks like a wedding, don't it?" said he; and turning up his clean
white trousers he strolled down to the water's edge for a closer
look. "Scandalous," he added, examining her timbers.

"What's scandalous?"

He pointed with his finger. "Rotten as touch"; and he pensively drew
out an enormous clasp-knife. "A man ought to be fined for treating
human life so careless. See here!"

He drove the knife at a selected spot, and the blade sank in to the
hilt.

From the interior, prompt on the stroke, arose a faint scream.

CHAPTER X.

I GO ON A HONEYMOON.

"Sure-ly I know that voice?" said Mr. Jope.

He drew out the knife reflectively. It relieved me to see that no
blood dyed the blade.

"Oh, Mr. Jope, I was afraid you'd stabbed him!"

"'Tisn't a him, 'tis a her. I touched somebody up, and that's the
truth."

"Ahoy there!" said a voice immediately overhead; and we looked up.
A round-faced man was gazing down on us from the tilted bulwarks.
"You might ha' given us notice," he grumbled.

"I knew 'twas soft, but not so soft as all that," Mr. Jope explained.

"Got such a thing as a scrap o' chalk about ye?"

"No."

The round-faced man felt in his pocket and tossed down a piece.
"Mark a bit of a line round the place, will ye? I'll give it a lick
of paint afore the tide rises. It's only right the owner should have
it pointed out to him."

"Belong to these parts?" asked Mr. Jope affably