“He put his arm round my waist,” said Miss Cringle, blushing. “_What!_” said the mate, stuttering, “put his—put his arm—round—your waist—like”— His courage suddenly forsook him. “Like what?” inquired the girl, with superb innocence. “Like _that_,” said the mate manfully. “That’ll do,” said Miss Cringle softly, “that’ll do. You’re as bad as he is, only the worst of it is there is nobody here to prevent you.” IN BORROWED PLUMES The master of the _Sarah Jane_ had been missing for two days, and all on board, with the exception of the boy, whom nobody troubled about, were full of joy at the circumstance. Twice before had the skipper, whose habits might, perhaps, be best described as irregular, missed his ship, and word had gone forth that the third time would be the last. His berth was a good one, and the mate wanted it in place of his own, which was wanted by Ted Jones, A. B. “Two hours more,” said the mate anxiously to the men, as they stood leaning against the side, “and I take the ship out.” “Under two hours’ll do it,” said Ted, peering over the side and watching the water as it slowly rose over the mud. “What’s got the old man, I wonder?” “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said the mate. “You chaps stand by me and it’ll be good for all of us. Mr. Pearson said distinct the last time that if the skipper ever missed his ship again it would be his last trip in her, and he told me afore the old man that I wasn’t to wait two minutes at any time, but to bring her out right away.” “He’s an old fool,” said Bill Loch, the other hand; “and nobody’ll miss him but the boy, and he’s been looking reg’lar worried all the morning. He looked so worried at dinner time that I give ’im a kick to cheer him up a bit. Look at him now.” The mate gave a supercilious glance in the direction of the boy, and then turned away. The boy, who had no idea of courting observation, stowed himself away behind the windlass; and, taking a letter from his pocket, perused it for the fourth time. “Dear Tommy,” it began. “I take my pen in and to inform you that I’m stayin here and cant get away for the reason that I lorst my cloes at cribage larst night, also my money, and everything beside. Don’t speek to a living sole about it as the mate wants my birth, but pack up sum cloes and bring them to me without saying nuthing to noboddy. The mates cloths will do becos I havent got enny other soot, dont tell ’im. You needen’t trouble about soks as I’ve got them left. My hed is so bad I must now conclude. Your affecshunate uncle and captin Joe Bross. P.S. Dont let the mate see you come, or else he wont let you go.” “Two hours more,” sighed Tommy, as he put the letter back in his pocket. “How can I get any clothes when they’re all locked up? And aunt said I was to look after ’im and see he didn’t get into no mischief.”