's a joke, that's wot it is. Ain't it,
Toozle, my boy?"

Toozle whined, wagged his tail, and said, a's plainly as if he had
spoken, "Yes, of course it is--an uncommonly bad joke, no doubt; but a
joke, undoubtedly; so keep up your heart, my man."

"Ah! you're a funny dog," continued Bumpus, "but you don't know wot it
is to be hanged, my boy. Hanged! why it's agin all laws o' justice,
moral an' otherwise, it is. But I'm dreamin', yes, it's dreamin' I am--
but I don't think I ever did dream that I thought I was dreamin' an' yet
wasn't quite sure. Really it's perplexin', to say the least on it.
Ain't it, Toozle?"

Toozle wagged his tail.

"Ah, here comes my imaginary jailer to let me out o' this here
abominably real-lookin' imaginary lockup. Hang Jo Bumpus! why it's--"

Before Jo could find words sufficiently strong to express his opinion of
such a murderous intention, the door opened and a surly-looking man--a
European settler--entered with his breakfast. This meal consisted of a
baked breadfruit and a can of water.

"Ha! you've come to let me out, have you?" cried Jo, in a tone of forced
pleasantry, which was anything but cheerful.

"Have I, though!" said the man, setting down the food on a small deal
table that stood at the head of the bedstead; "don't think it, my man;
your time's up in another two hours--hallo! where got ye the dog?"

"It came in with me last night--to keep me company, I fancy, which is
more than the human dogs o' this murderin' place had the civility to
do."

"If it had know'd you was a murderin' pirate," retorted the jailer, "it
would ha' thought twice before it would ha' chose _you_ for a comrade."

"Come, now," said Bumpus, in a remonstrative tone, "you don't really
b'lieve I'm a pirate, do you?"

"In coorse I do."

"Well, now, that's xtraor'nary. Does everybody else think that too?"

"Everybody."

"An' am I _really_ goin' to be hanged?"

"Till you're dead as mutton."

"That's entertainin', ain't it, Toozle?" cried poor Bumpus with a laugh
of desperation, for he found it utterly impossible to persuade himself
to believe in the reality of his awful position.

As he said nothing more, the jailer went away, and Bumpus, after heaving
two or three very deep sighs, attempted to partake of his meagre
breakfast. The effort was a vain one. The bite stuck in his throat, so
he washed it down with a gulp of water, and, for the first time in his
life, made up his mind to go withou