affectionate memory. No, John, don't deprive yourself of it."

The wretched man felt with quivering fingers for the cap, took it
off and laid it on the rock beside me, but never spoke.

"And who is the boy, John? But, there, you were always one to
make friends. Everybody loves you; they can't help themselves.
Lucy loved you when she wouldn't look at me, would she? You were
always so gentle and quiet, John, except perhaps when the drink was
in you: and even then you didn't mean any harm; it was only your
play, wasn't it, John?"

John's face was a shade whiter, and again something worked in his
throat, but still he uttered no word.

"Well, anyhow, John, it's a real treat to see you--and looking so
well, too. To think that we two, of all men, should have been on the
jib-boom when she struck! By the way, John, wasn't there another
with us? Now I come to think of it, there must have been another.
What became of him? Did he jump too, John?"

John found speech at last. "No; I don't think he jumped." The words
came hoarsely and with difficulty. I looked at him; cold and
shivering as he was, the sweat was streaming down his face.

"No? I wonder why."

No answer.

"You're quite sure about it, John? Because, you know, it would be a
thousand pities if he were thrown up on this desolate shore without
seeing the faces of his old friends. So I hope you are quite sure,
John; think again."

"He didn't jump."

"No?"

"He fell."

"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" The words came in the softest, sweetest
tones of pity. "I suppose there is no mistake about his melancholy
end?"

"I saw him fall. He just let go and fell; it's Bible oath, Captain--
it's Bible oath. That's how it happened; he just--let go--and fell.
I saw it with my very eyes, and--Captain, it was your knife."
To this effect John, with great difficulty and a nervous shifting
stare that wandered from the Captain to me until it finally rested
somewhere out at sea.

The Captain gave a sharp keen glance, smiled softly, set his thin
lips together as though whistling inaudibly, and turned to me.

"So you know John, my boy? He's a good fellow, is John; just the
sort of quiet, steady, Christian man to make a good companion for the
young. No swearing, drinking, or vice about John Railton; and so
truthful, too--the very soul of truth! Couldn't tell a lie for all
the riches of the Indies. Ah, you are in luck to have such a friend!
It's not often a good