me, and I won't say a word. You won't hit me half so
hard as the skipper and the men did; and even if you did, you're only
two, and there's twenty of them; so if you're allus doing it I shall be
ten times better off."

"It's my duty to send you and your mate, here, back to the ship," said
Uncle Dick.

"Oh, don't say that, sir," cried the boy; "but if you did, we shouldn't
go, for Bill Cross said if you wouldn't take us along with you we'd go
and live in the woods, and if we starved to death there, we should be
better off than aboard ship."

"But you signed for the voyage, my man," said Uncle Dick, "and if I
consented to take you with me I should be helping you to defraud the
owners."

"Serve the owners right, sir, for having their people treated like dogs,
or worse," growled the carpenter. "'Sides, I don't see what fraud there
is in it. I've worked hard these two months, and drawn no pay. They'll
get that, and they may have it and welcome."

"That's all very well," said Uncle Dick, "but a bargain's a bargain.
The want of two hands in an emergency may mean the loss of the ship, and
you and this lad have deserted. No; I can't agree to it; you must take
your boat and go back."

"Can't, sir, now," said the carpenter bitterly; "and I thought we was
coming to English gentlemen who would behave to a couple of poor
wretches like Christians."

"It is no part of a Christian's duty to be unjust. You know you have
done wrong and have helped this poor lad to do the same," said my uncle.

"I should have fought it out, sir, if it hadn't been for the poor boy.
Dog's life's nothing to what he went through."

"Where is your boat?" said Uncle Dick, suddenly.

The carpenter laughed.

"I dunno, sir," he said; "we sent her adrift when we landed, and you
know what the currents are along here better, p'raps, than I do."

"What! you've sent your boat adrift?"

"Yes, sir; we made up our minds to cut and run, and we can't go back
now. We didn't want to steal the boat. They'll get it again."

Uncle Dick frowned and turned to me.

"This is a pretty state of affairs, Nat; and it's like forcing us to
take them on board and sail after the steamer. What's to be done?"

"Cannot we keep them, uncle?"

"Keep them? I don't want a boy to kick and knock about and jump on,
sir. Do you?"

"Well, no, uncle," I said; "but--"

"But! Yes, it's all very well to say `but,' my lad. You don't see how
serious it is."

"I'd serve