f His Majesty's Fleet came along its fore
street with a hand-barrow and a huge cask very cunningly lashed
thereto. On their way they eyed the cottages and gardens to right
and left with a lively curiosity; but "Lord, Bill," said the shorter
seaman, misquoting Wordsworth unawares, "the werry houses look
asleep!"

At the "Punch-Bowl" Inn, kept by J. Coyne, they halted by silent
consent. Mr. William Adams, who had been trundling the barrow, set
it down, and Mr. Benjamin Jope--whose good-natured face would have
recommended him anywhere--walked into the drinking-parlour and rapped
on the table. This brought to him the innkeeper's daughter, Miss
Elizabeth, twenty years old and comely. "What can I do for you,
sir?" she asked.

"Two pots o' beer, first-along," said Mr. Jope.

"Two?"

"I got a shipmate outside."

Miss Elizabeth fetched the two pots.

"Here, Bill!" he called, carrying one to the door. Returning, he
blew at the froth on his own pot meditatively. "And the next thing
is, I want a house."

"A house?"

"'Stonishing echo you keep here. . . . Yes, miss, a house. My name's
Jope--Ben Jope--o' the _Vesuvius_ bomb, bo's'un; but paid off at
eight this morning. My friend outside goes by the name of Bill
Adams; an' you'll find him livelier than he looks. Everyone does.
But I forgot; you ha'n't seen him yet, and he can't come in, havin'
to look after the cask."

"The ca--" Miss Elizabeth had almost repeated the word, but managed
to check herself.

"You ought to consult someone about it, at your age," said Mr. Jope
solicitously. "Yes, the cask. Rum it is, an' a quarter-puncheon.
Bill and me clubbed an' bought it off the purser las' night, the
chaplain havin' advised us not to waste good prize-money ashore but
invest it in something we really wanted. But I don't know if you've
ever noticed how often one thing leads to another. You can't go
drinkin' out a quarter-puncheon o' rum in the high road, not very
well. So the next thing is, we want a house."

"But," said the girl, "who ever heard of a house to let hereabouts!"

Mr. Jope's face fell.

"Ain't there none? An' it seemed so retired, too, an' handy near
Plymouth."

"There's not a house to let in St. Dilp parish, unless it be the
Rectory."

Mr. Jope's face brightened.

"Then we'll take the Rectory," he said. "Where is it?"

"Down by the river. . . . But 'tis nonsense you're tellin'.
The Rectory indeed! Why, it's a seat!"

Mr. Jope's f