ng brought food with him, feeling
hungry after his exertions about the ship. There was nothing else for
it but to hide as safely as he could in his own shape.

This he did, after a thorough search in his rat form to find what
seemed a safe, hidden place high at the top of a pile of the loot
stolen from the merchantman. There the exhausted boy, curled closely
against any sudden movement of the ship, fell into a sound sleep.

The dip and sway of a sailing ship cutting the seas, and a ravenous
appetite, combined to wake Chris. For the first few moments he was
confused at where he was. Little or no light seeped into the hold, and
he was further troubled by having no idea how long he might have
slept.

His first thought was to find food. Climbing down from his sleeping
place he felt his way back to the ladder leading up to the deck. The
hatch at the top of the ladder was open and through it came a long
faded shaft of light and a freshening draught of air. By the quality
of the light, Chris judged the time to be well along in the afternoon.
He was debating with himself whether or not to change his shape and
venture up to find something to eat, when on one of the lower treads
of the plank ladder he caught sight of a plate of food.

Chris stood staring at it for a moment. His mouth watered, for he had
not eaten in many hours and the sight of meat, bread, and fruit was
almost more than he could resist. But resist it he did, for he argued
in himself: If this has been put here, it must be for me. If it is for
me, it may well be poisoned. I shall not be tempted, much as Claggett
Chew would like me to be! He therefore left the plate of food where it
was, hoping the rats would find it before long and he would have
proof, through their actions, whether or not his theory was right.
Then, as a shadow fell over the hatch far above his head, Chris
hastily became a fly, soaring up to hit Simon Gosler on the nose.

Crawling in a leisurely fashion on the beggar's hump, he lingered long
enough to see what the cripple was about. Simon was looking down the
steep ladder, shading his rheumy eyes against the brilliance of the
setting sun with one filthy, crooked hand. Chris, crawling nearer,
could make out what the old man was muttering under his breath.

"The Cap'n, he say go down an' see, is the food et up, sez he. But
'tis a weary hard way for a pore ol' cripple to hop down thet steep
ladder. I'll not do it. He's a sick and fevered man. I