She was on the point of giving up in despair when she caught sight of the Eyesore. She looked at his back—which was all she could see of him—and brooded a long time. At last she rose and stole over to him on tip-toe. She felt for a coin in the little bead-embroidered bag that hung from her wrist. Two or three times she opened her mouth as if about to speak, but each time she closed it again upon the unspoken word. Finally, however, she made up her mind. "My good man," she said, rather condescendingly. The Eyesore never stirred. She might as well have addressed one of the chain-posts. She tried again: this time a trifle more urbanely. "Mister!—" A sort of wave of acknowledgment ran down the back of the Eyesore’s coat, just as a horse shivers at the touch of a fly; but that was all. She made one more effort: now with a courteous appeal. "Sir!—You threw Sempronius into the river on Saturday—here’s a crown for you." I cannot explain what connection there was in her mind between the crime and the reward, except that in some confused way she considered the former as a sort of introduction entitling her to address him. The Eyesore only put his hand behind his back with the open palm upward. When Mrs. Poskett had dropped the huge coin into it, he brought it slowly round, bit it, spat on it, and pocketed it. But he said no word. Mrs. Poskett proceeded hastily, indicating the Admiral’s house. "Now I want you to knock at that door." The Eyesore followed the direction of her finger with a bleary eye. What! He knock at the door of his enemy and persecutor! and be captured by him! That was her little game, was it? And she thought to lure him to his doom with a miserable bait of five shillings. But he’d show her! To Mrs. Poskett’s amazement, alarm, and admiration, he picked up a stone, hurled it with unerring aim at the door, and incontinently bolted round the corner. Mrs. Poskett fled behind the elm and awaited the upshot with a beating heart. Jim appeared, red-faced, at the door. He looked up and down the Walk, but seeing it empty, muttered, "Cuss them boys!" and was turning to go in again, when Mrs. Poskett called him. "Good evening, Mr. Jim," she said, in her blandest tones. "’Evening, mum!" answered Jim, touching his forelock. "Them boys ought to be drownded, is what I says; and I wish I had the doing of it." "You have a responsible post, Mr. Jim." "Ay, ay, mum. Bosun o’ the Admiral’s gig." "Oh, more than that, Mr. Jim. Chief officer, and cook, and gardener—what lovely peas!" It was much too dark to see the peas, but she knew they grew all around Jim’s heart. "Ah," he assented, and added with meaning, "takes a oncommon lot o’ moistenin’, though." "It is thirsty weather, Mr. Jim." Mrs. Poskett was searching in her bag again. Jim’s eyes gleamed. "And a truer word you never spoke, Lady." "Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, insidiously, "I want to see the Admiral."