“Where?” demanded Mr. Dodds wildly. “Where?” “He went straight up on deck,” said Steve slowly, “walked aft, and then down into the cabin. The skipper woke up, and I heard ’im say something to him.” “Say something to ’im?” repeated the bewildered Dodds. “Wot was it?” “Well, I ’ardly like to repeat it,” said Steve hesitating. “Wot was it?” roared the overwrought Mr. Dodds. “Well, I ’eard this chap say something,” said Steve slowly, “and then I heard the skipper’s voice. But I don’t like to repeat wot ’e said, I reely don’t.” “Wot was it?” roared Mr. Dodds, approaching him with clenched fist. “Well, if you will have it,” said Steve with a little cough, “the old man said to me, ‘Well done, Steve,’ he ses, ‘you’re the only sensible man of the whole bilin’ lot. Sam’s a fool, ’e ses, and ’Arry’s worse, an’ if it wasn’t for men like you, Steve, life wouldn’t be worth living.’” THE LOST SHIP On a fine spring morning in the early part of the present century, Tetby, a small port on the east coast, was keeping high holiday. Tradesmen left their shops, and labourers their work, and flocked down to join the maritime element collected on the quay. In the usual way Tetby was a quiet, dull little place, clustering in a tiny heap of town on one side of the river, and perching in scattered red-tiled cottages on the cliffs of the other. Now; however, people were grouped upon the stone quay, with its litter of fish-baskets and coils of rope, waiting expectantly, for to-day the largest ship ever built in Tetby, by Tetby hands, was to start upon her first voyage. As they waited, discussing past Tetby ships, their builders, their voyages, and their fate, a small piece of white sail showed on the noble barque from her moorings up the river. The groups on the quay grew animated as more sail was set, and in a slow and stately fashion the new ship drew near. As the light breeze took her sails she came faster, sitting the water like a duck, her lofty masts tapering away to the sky as they broke through the white clouds of canvas. She passed within ten fathoms of the quay, and the men cheered and the women held their children up to wave farewell, for she was manned from captain to cabin-boy by Tetby men, and bound for the distant southern seas. Outside the harbour she altered her course somewhat and bent, like a thing of life, to the wind blowing outside. The crew sprang into the rigging and waved their caps, and kissed their grimy hands to receding Tetby. They were answered by rousing cheers from the shore, hoarse and masculine, to drown the lachrymose attempts of the women. They watched her until their eyes were dim, and she was a mere white triangular speck on the horizon. Then, like a melting snowflake, she vanished into air, and the Tetby folk, some envying the bold mariners, and others thankful that their lives were cast upon the safe and pleasant shore, slowly dispersed to their homes.