“There’s the infant,” went on Bill, meditatively. “He’s young and white, and I fancy his top-crust would work wonderful easy; but you’d have to hold him, for I expect that he’d yell proper.” “Yes,” said Mr. Meeson; “let the will be tattooed upon the child. He’d be some use that way.” “Yes,” said Bill; “and there’d allus be something left to remind me of a very queer time, provided he lives to get out of it, which is doubtful. Cuttle-ink won’t rub out, I’ll warrant.” “I won’t have Dick touched,” said Augusta, indignantly. “It would frighten the child into fits; and, besides, nobody has a right to mark him for life in that way.” “Well, then, there’s about an end of the question,” said Bill; “and this gentleman’s money must go wherever it is he don’t want it to.” “No,” said Augusta, with a sudden flush, “there is not. Mr. Eustace Meeson was once very kind to me, and rather than he should lose the chance of getting what he ought to have, I—I will be tattooed.” “Well, bust me!” said Bill, with enthusiasm, “bust me! if you ain’t a good-plucked one for a female woman; and if I was that there young man I should make bold to tell you so.” “Yes,” said Mr. Meeson, “that is an excellent idea. You are young and strong, and as there is lots of food here, I dare say that you will take a long time to die. You might even live for some months. Let us begin at once. I feel dreadfully weak. I don’t think that I can live through the night, and if I know that I have done all I can to make sure that Eustace gets his own, perhaps dying will be a little easier!” CHAPTER X. THE LAST OF MR. MEESON. Augusta turned from the old man with a gesture of impatience not unmixed with disgust. His selfishness was of an order that revolted her. “I suppose,” she said sharply to Bill, “that I must have this will tattooed upon my shoulders.” “Yes, Miss; that’s it,” said Bill. “You see, Miss, one wants space for a doccymint. If it were a ship or a flag, now, or a fancy pictur of your young man, I might manage it on your arm, but there must be breadth for a legal doccymint, more especially as I should like to make a good job of it while I is about it. I don’t want none of them laryers a-turning up their noses at Bill Jones’ tattooing.” “Very well,” said Augusta, with an inward sinking of the heart; “I will go and get ready.” Accordingly she adjourned into the hut and removed the body of her dress and turned down the flannel garment underneath it in such a fashion as to leave as much of her neck bare as is to be seen when a lady has on a moderately low dress. Then she came out again, dressed, or rather undressed, for the sacrifice. Meanwhile, Bill had drawn out the ink-bag of the cuttle, had prepared a little round fragment of wood which he sharpened like a pencil by rubbing it against a stone, and had put a keen edge on to a long white fishbone that he had selected.