The cabin, where the two victims of a mutinous crew had retired for coolness, got more and more stuffy, until at length even the scorching deck seemed preferable, and the girl, with a faint hope of finding a shady corner, went languidly up the companion-ladder. For some time the skipper sat alone, pondering gloomily over the state of affairs as he smoked his short pipe. He was aroused at length from his apathy by the sound of the companion being noisily closed, while loud frightened cries and hurrying footsteps on deck announced that something extraordinary was happening. As he rose to his feet he was confronted by Kate Rumbolt, who, panting and excited, waved a big key before him. “I’ve done it,” she cried, her eyes sparkling. “Done what?” shouted the mystified skipper. “Let the bear loose,” said the girl. “Ha, ha! you should have seen them run. You should have seen the fat sailor!” “Let the—phew—let the —— Good heavens! here’s a pretty kettle of fish!” he choked. “Listen to them shouting,” cried the exultant Kate, clapping her hands. “Just listen.” “Those shouts are from aloft,” said Hezekiah sternly, “where you and I ought to be.” “I’ve closed the companion,” said the girl reassuringly. “Closed the companion!” repeated Hezekiah, as he drew his knife. “He can smash it like cardboard, if the fit takes him. Go in here.” He opened the door of his state-room. “Shan’t!” said Miss Rumbolt politely. “Go in at once!” cried the skipper. “Quick with you.” “Sha—” began Miss Rumbolt again. Then she caught his eye, and went in like a lamb. “You come too,” she said prettily. “I’ve got to look after my ship and my men,” said the skipper. “I suppose you thought the ship would steer itself, didn’t you?” “Mutineers deserve to be eaten,” whimpered Miss Rumbolt piously, somewhat taken aback by the skipper’s demeanour. Hezekiah looked at her. “They’re not mutineers, Kate,” he said quietly. “It was just a piece of mad folly of mine. They’re as honest a set of old sea dogs as ever breathed, and I only hope they are all safe up aloft. I’m going to lock you in; but don’t be frightened, it shan’t hurt you.” He slammed the door on her protests, and locked it, and, slipping the key of the cage in his pocket, took a firm grip of his knife, and, running up the steps, gained the deck. Then his breath came more freely, for the mate, who was standing a little way up the fore rigging, after tempting the bear with his foot, had succeeded in dropping a noose over its head. The brute made a furious attempt to extricate itself, but the men hurried down with other lines, and in a short space of time the bear presented much the same appearance as the lion in _Æsop’s Fables_, and was dragged and pushed, a heated and indignant mass of fur, back to its cage.