“If you were going to say pretty girl,” said Miss Cringle, with calm self-abnegation, “don’t mind me, say it. The captain knows what he’s about. He told me you were a milksop; he said you were a good young man and a teetotaller.” The mate, allowing the truth of the captain’s statement as to his abstinence, hotly denied the charge of goodness. “I can understand your father’s hurry to get rid of you for a spell,” he concluded, being goaded beyond all consideration of politeness. “His gout ’ud never get well while you were with him. More than that, I shouldn’t wonder if you were the cause of it.” With this parting shot he departed, before the girl could think of a suitable reply, and went and sulked in the dingy little fo’c’sle. In the evening, the weather having moderated somewhat, and the tide being on the ebb, they got under way again, the girl coming on deck fully attired in an oilskin coat and sou’-wester to resume the command. The rain fell steadily as they ploughed along their way, guided by the bright eye of the “Mouse” as it shone across the darkening waters. The mate, soaked to the skin, was at the wheel. “Why don’t you go below and put your oilskins on?” inquired the girl, when this fact dawned upon her. “Don’t want ’em,” said the mate. “I suppose you know best,” said the girl, and said no more until nine o’clock, when she paused at the companion to give her last orders for the night. “I’m going to turn in,” said she; “call me at two o’clock. Good-night.” “Good-night,” said the other, and the girl vanished. Left to himself, the mate, who began to feel chilly, felt in his pockets for a pipe, and was in all the stress of getting a light, when he heard a thin, almost mild voice behind him, and, looking round, saw the face of the girl at the companion. “I say, are these your oilskins I’ve been wearing?” she demanded awkwardly. “You’re quite welcome,” said the mate. “Why didn’t you tell me?” said the girl indignantly. “I wouldn’t have worn them for anything if I had known it.” “Well, they won’t poison you,” said the mate resentfully. “Your father left his at Ipswich to have ’em cobbled up a bit.” The girl passed them up on the deck, and, closing the companion with a bang, disappeared. It is possible that the fatigues of the day had been too much for her, for when she awoke, and consulted the little silver watch that hung by her bunk, it was past five o’clock, and the red glow of the sun was flooding the cabin as she arose and hastily dressed. The deck was drying in white patches as she went above, and the mate was sitting yawning at the wheel, his eyelids red for want of sleep. “Didn’t I tell you to call me at two o’clock?” she demanded, confronting him. “It’s all right,” said the mate. “I thought when you woke would be soon enough. You looked tired.” “I think you’d better go when we get to Ipswich,” said the girl, tightening her lips. “I’ll ship somebody who’ll obey orders.”