The conversation dropped, the skipper, anxious to divert his thoughts, watching the dark mass of sail as it came plunging out of the darkness into the moonlight until it was abreast of his own craft. His eyes followed it as it passed his quarter, so that he saw not the stealthy approach of the cat which came from behind the companion, and sat down close by him. For over thirty hours the animal had been subjected to the grossest indignities at the hands of every man on board the ship except one. That one was the skipper, and there is no doubt but that its subsequent behaviour was a direct recognition of that fact. It rose to its feet, and crossing over to the unconscious skipper, rubbed its head affectionately and vigorously against his leg. From simple causes great events do spring. The skipper sprang four yards, and let off a screech which was the subject of much comment on the barque which had just passed. When Bob, who came shuffling up at the double, reached him he was leaning against the side, incapable of speech, and shaking all over. “Anything wrong, sir?” inquired the seaman anxiously, as he ran to the wheel. The skipper pulled himself together a bit, and got closer to his companion. “Believe me or not, Bob,” he said at length, in trembling accents, “just as you please, but the ghost of that —— cat, I mean the ghost of that poor affectionate animal which I drowned, and which I wish I hadn’t, came and rubbed itself up against my leg.” “Which leg?” inquired Bob, who was ever careful about details. “What the blazes does it matter which leg?” demanded the skipper, whose nerves were in a terrible state. “Ah, look—look there!” The seaman followed his outstretched finger, and his heart failed him as he saw the cat, with its back arched, gingerly picking its way along the side of the vessel. “I can’t see nothing,” he said doggedly. “I don’t suppose you can, Bob,” said the skipper in a melancholy voice, as the cat vanished in the bows; “it’s evidently only meant for me to see. What it means I don’t know. I’m going down to turn in. I ain’t fit for duty. You don’t mind being left alone till the mate comes up, do you?” “I ain’t afraid,” said Bob. His superior officer disappeared below, and, shaking the sleepy mate, who protested strongly against the proceedings, narrated in trembling tones his horrible experiences. “If I were you”—said the mate. “Yes?” said the skipper, waiting a bit. Then he shook him again, roughly. “What were you going to say?” he inquired. “Say?” said the mate, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing.” “About the cat?” suggested the skipper. “Cat?” said the mate, nestling lovingly down in the blankets again. “Wha’ ca’—goo’ ni’”—