"The Hall of Delights by the sad sea wave proved a very great success indeed. Somehow or other we came to like it better than the ship itself, and although we always came home to sleep, it was often very late indeed before we scrambled on board our slippery-decked brig, and went below to the dingy darkness of state-room, hammock, or bunk. "In this Hall of Delights we had music, for Peter Kelty played the violin, and Sandy Watson the clarionet; then there was big Magnus Rugg could put in a bass with his voice alone that you couldn't have told from a violoncello. We had plenty of fire in the hall, but when the fiddles started of an evening, it wasn't much heat we needed, for those-- "`Hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in our heels.' "When tired of dancing, or rather, I should say, in the intervals between the dances, we had singing and recitations. The simplest of the simple both were, for in the latter I don't think we ever got beyond `Douglas's Tragedy' or `Tam o' Shanter,' and in the former `Annie Laurie' or `The Braes o' Balquidder' were far more appreciated than anything from the best of operas could have been. "But the _summus mons_, in a musical way, was attained by our spectioneer, or third officer, for he not only sang most charmingly, but he accompanied himself on the zither. "He was somewhat of a character, was this individual. He was far from old-looking in the face, but his hair and beard were like the very snow itself. He seldom even smiled, or if he did, it was a languid, sad kind of smile that kept well down about the lips, and never curved round the eyes or made them sparkle. He was tender and kind in heart, though, and a favourite with all hands. "By-the-bye, his name was Summers, but he was always called Winter, and didn't mind it a bit, he was so good-natured. "We were all enjoying ourselves one evening in the Hall of Delights, we had danced till the fiddlers were tired, and everybody that could sing had sung, so there was a kind of lull--a momentary silence, in fact. Now, as it was nearly ten o'clock, if this silence had continued for even fifteen seconds, the captain would certainly have jumped up and said: "`Well, lads, we'd better be moving.' "We didn't feel like moving yet, so the silence was not allowed to extend itself. "`Hi!' cried Kelty, `I call upon you for a _comic_ song, Mr Winter.' "`Or a _funny_ story,' cried somebody else. "There was loud laughing at the bare idea of Winter treating us to either. "Winter looked round among us, in an amused kind of way, as if he quite enjoyed the joke, and when the laugh subsided, we all glanced towards him for his reply. I think I see him now; one hand rested on the zither bringing out stray chords, the other rested on the table, the great oil lamp that stood at one side threw his features into semi-shadow, and there was a thoughtful far-away look in his eyes. "`Yes,' he said, at last, `I'll tell you a story.'