“Mr. Fraser’s gone,” said the watchman, politely and loudly, “there’s a new skipper now, and that tall, fine, ’andsome, smart, good-looking young feller down there is the new mate.” The new mate, looking up fiercely, acknowledged the introduction with an inhospitable stare, a look which gave way to one of anxiety as Mrs. Tipping, stepping into the rigging, suddenly lost her nerve, and, gripping it tightly, shook it in much the same fashion as a stout bluebottle shakes the web of a spider. “Hold tight, mar,” cried her daughter, excitedly. The watchman stepped into the rigging beside her, and patted her soothingly on the back; the mate, coming to the side, took her foot and assisted her to reach the deck. Miss Tipping followed, and the elder lady, after recovering from the shock caused by her late peril, fell to discussing the eternal subject of Mr. Robinson with the new mate. “No, I never see ’im,” said Ben, thoughtfully; “I never heard of him till you come asking arter ’im. “You must make up your mind he’s gone,” said Mrs. Tipping, turning to her daughter, “that’s what I keep telling you. I never was so tired of anything in my life as tramping down here night after night. It ain’t respectable.” “You needn’t come,” said the other, dutifully. “He was last heard of on this ship, and where else am I to look for him? You said you’d like to find him yourself.” “I should,” said Mrs. Tipping, grimly; “I should. Me an’ him are to have a little talk, if ever we do meet.” “If he ever comes aboard this ship,” said the mate, firmly, “I’ll tackle him for you.” “Find out where he lives,” said Mrs. Tipping, eagerly. “And let us know,” added her daughter, giving him a card; “that’s our address, and any time you’re up our way we shall be very pleased to see you, Mr.——” “Brown,” said the mate, charmed with their manners. “Mr. Brown.” “Ben,” cried a voice from the wharf. The new mate gazed austerely at the small office-boy above. “Letter for the mate,” said the youth, who was unversed in recent history; “catch.” He pitched it to the deck and walked off whistling. There was only one mate in Ben’s world, and he picked the letter up and put it in his pocket. “Don’t mind us, if you want to read it,” said Mrs. Tipping, kindly. “Only business, I expect,” said Ben, grandly. He took it from his pocket, and, tearing the envelope, threw it aside and made a feint of reading the contents. “Not bad news, I hope?” said Mrs. Tipping, noticing his wrinkled brow. “I can’t read without my glasses,” said the mate, with a measure of truth in the statement. He looked at Mrs. Tipping, and saw a chance of avoiding humiliation. “P’r’aps you’d just look at it and see if it’s important,” he suggested. Mrs. Tipping took the letter from him, and, after remarking on the strangeness of the handwriting, read aloud:— “+Dear Jack+:—If you want to see Mr. Norton, come to 10, John Street, Walworth, and be careful nobody sees you.”