nowing it. I hate Dr. Watts, and I love to go to sleep. I dream
such jolly things. Sleep is ever so much nicer than being awake,
isn't it?"

I wanted sleep, having had but little for two nights, and could
therefore agree with him.

"You get such jolly adventures when you dream," said Tom,
reflectively.

I had been rather surfeited with adventures lately, so held my peace.

"Now, real life is so dull. If one could only meet with
adventures--"

I caught the sound of wheels behind us, and turned round. We had
struck off the downs on to the high road. A light gig with one
occupant was approaching us. As it drew near the driver hailed us.

"Hullo! lads, is this the road for Polkimbra?"

The speaker was a short, grizzled, seafaring man, with a kind face
and good-humoured mouth. He drove execrably, and pulled his quiet
mare right back upon her haunches.

I answered that it was.

"Are you bound for there? Yes? Jump up then. I'll give you a
lift."

I looked at Tom; he, of course, was ready for anything that would
save trouble, so we clambered up beside the stranger.

"There was a wreck there yesterday, I've heard," said he, after we
had gone a few yards, "and an inquest, and, by the tale I heard, a
lot of lies told."

I started. The man did not notice it, but continued--

"Maybe you've heard of it. Well, it's a rum world, and a fine lot of
lies gets told every day, but you don't often get so accomplished a
liar as that chap--what's his name? Blessed if I can tackle it; not
but what it's another lie, I'll wager."

I was listening intently. He continued more to himself than to us--

"An amazing liar, though I wonder what his game was. It beats me;
beats me altogether. The '_James and Elizabeth_,' says he, as large
as life. I take it the fellow couldn't 'a been fooling who brought
the news to Falmouth. Didn't know me from Adam, and was fairly put
about when he saw how I took it, and, says he, ''twas the _James and
Elizabeth_ the chap said, as sure as I stand here.' Boy, do you
happen to know the name of the vessel that ran ashore here, night
afore last?"

I had grown accustomed to being asked this dreadful question, and
therefore answered as bravely as I could. "The _James and
Elizabeth_, sir."

"Captain's name?"

"Captain Antonius Merrydew."

"Ah, poor chap! He was lying sick below when she struck, wasn't he?
And he had a wife aboard, and a child born at sea, hadn't he?
Fell sick in