very black, and moved readily, and this gave him a look of
some temper--not bad, you would say, but quick and high.

"Come in, Mr. Dance," says he, very stately and condescending.

"Good-evening, Dance," says the doctor, with a nod. "And good-evening to
you, friend Jim. What good wind brings you here?"

The supervisor stood up straight and stiff, and told his story like a
lesson; and you should have seen how the two gentlemen leaned forward and
looked at each other, and forgot to smoke in their surprise and interest.
When they heard how my mother went back to the inn, Dr. Livesey fairly
slapped his thigh, and the squire cried, "Bravo!" and broke his long pipe
against the grate. Long before it was done, Mr. Trelawney (that, you will
remember, was the squire's name) had got up from his seat, and was
striding about the room, and the doctor, as if to hear the better, had
taken off his powdered wig, and sat there, looking very strange indeed
with his own close-cropped black poll.

At last Mr. Dance finished the story.

"Mr. Dance," said the squire, "you are a very noble fellow. And as for
riding down that black, atrocious miscreant, I regard it as an act of
virtue, sir, like stamping on a cockroach. This lad Hawkins is a trump, I
perceive.--Hawkins, will you ring that bell? Mr. Dance must have some
ale."

"And so, Jim," said the doctor, "you have the thing that they were after,
have you?"

"Here it is, sir," said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.

The doctor looked it all over, as if his fingers were itching to open it;
but, instead of doing that, he put it quietly in the pocket of his coat.

"Squire," said he, "when Dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off
on His Majesty's service; but I mean to keep Jim Hawkins here to sleep at
my house, and, with your permission, I propose we should have up the cold
pie, and let him sup."

"As you will, Livesey," said the squire; "Hawkins has earned better than
cold pie."

So a big pigeon-pie was brought in and put on a side-table, and I made a
hearty supper, for I was as hungry as a hawk, while Mr. Dance was
further complimented and at last dismissed.

"And now, squire," said the doctor.

"And now, Livesey," said the squire, in the same breath.

"One at a time, one at a time," laughed Dr. Livesey.--"You have heard of
this Flint, I suppose?"

"Heard of him!" cried the squire. "Heard of him, you say! He was the
bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard w