owever, to talk business, and, when
it was concluded, he proposed that they should go out for a stroll
through the town.

"By the way," remarked Ned, as they walked along, "what of Captain
Bunting's old ship?"

"Ay!" echoed the captain, "that's the uppermost thing in _my_ mind; but
master Tom seems determined to keep us in the dark. I do believe the
_Roving Bess_ has been burned, an' he's afraid to tell us."

"You're a desperately inquisitive set," cried Tom Collins, laughing.
"Could you not suppose that I wanted to give you a surprise, by shewing
you how curiously she has been surrounded by houses since you last saw
her. You'll think nothing of it, now that I have told you."

"Why, where are ye goin'?" cried Larry, as Tom turned up a street that
led a little away from the shore, towards which they had been walking!

Tom made no reply, but led on. They were now in that densely-crowded
part of the town where shops were less numerous, warehouses more
plentiful, and disagreeable odours more abundant, than elsewhere. A
dense mass of buildings lay between them and the sea, and in the centre
of these was a square or plaza, on one side of which stood a large
hotel, out of the roof of which rose a gigantic flag-staff. A broad and
magnificent flight of wooden steps led up to the door of this house of
entertainment, over which, on a large board, was written its name--"The
Roving Bess Tavern."

"Dear me! that's a strange coincidence," exclaimed the captain, as his
eye caught the name.

"Tare an' ages!" yelled Larry, "av it isn't the owld ship! Don't I know
the mizzen-mast as well as I know me right leg?"

"The _Roving Bess_ Tavern!" muttered Captain Bunting, while his eyes
stared incredulously at the remarkable edifice before him.

Bill Jones, who, up to this point, had walked beside his comrades in
silent meditation, here lost presence of mind and, putting both hands to
his mouth, sang out, in true stentorian boatswain tones, "All hands
ahoy! tumble up there--tumble up!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" roared half-a-dozen jack tars, who chanced to be regaling
themselves within, and who rushed out, hat in hand, ready for a spree,
at the unexpected but well-known summons.

"Major Whitlaw," said Tom Collins, springing up the steps, and
addressing a tall, cadaverous-looking Yankee, "allow me to introduce to
you your landlord, Captain Bunting--your tenant, captain. I dare say
you have almost forgotten each other."

The captain h