I must have been muttering my curses aloud, for I heard a voice at my shoulder. It was Peter. {260} “What ’s gone wrong, lad?” he asked, half laughing. “Cussing won’t mend it.” I turned to him. “I don’t know about that, Peter,” I said. “It relieves my mind. I feel better already.” He laughed. “Do you so? Well, mebbe. But, Timmie, I ’ll have something for you to-morrow.” “Got your model done, Peter?” I asked eagerly. I had been but little in the forecastle for months. I did not want to have to speak to Smith, or even to see him. “Mebbe I have,” he answered, smiling. “Mebbe I have. I could be tinkering at it longer, but I don’t believe ’t would better it. I ’ll give it to you to-morrow.” “Can’t you give it to me now, Peter? You might as well. You won’t do anything more to it.” “Well,” said Peter, almost coyly. “Well, I might get it now. But come up for’ard, or into the fo’c’s’le. I ought not to be standing here, gamming.” I hesitated. I was reluctant to go into the forecastle. “I don’t like to, Peter. I—you see—Smith—” “Aye,” said Peter soberly, “I know. Smith—well he ’ll get the lance the first thing he knows. He ’s worse and worse, as independent as a clerk; fair reckless. The old man gave him another dressing-down a few days ago, a stiff one. Did you know it?” I nodded. I knew it, although I did not hear it. “And he bragged of it,” Peter went on; “came back to us, and bragged of it, and laughed at the old man and the officers. Said he ’d been threatened, and he ’d show the old man yet. Mr. Snow ’s afraid of him, to speak plainly, and he ’s got the idea that the others are too, at heart. And he ’s got the men discontented and grumbling. It ’s my idea that he thinks they ’ll be ready soon for anything he proposes. I don’t know why the old man don’t do something about it. He must know.” I checked the reply which was on my lips, for Smith was approaching at that moment. He always contrived to {261} pass when Peter and I were talking. He was suspicious, very likely, but did not show it. He gave us a smile and a pleasant word. “Come on, then,” said Peter, turning to go forward, “and I ’ll get it.” I followed, and waited by the foremast while Peter dived below. He emerged in a minute, holding the model in his hand. “I hope you ’ll like it, lad,” he said, “and it may give you some pleasure to look at it now and again, and remind you of the years you spent in the old ship.” “Oh, Peter!” I said. “Oh, Peter! Like it!” It was a fairy thing, with its ivory sails so thin that you could almost see through them, and the tiny boats complete down to the smallest thing in them, every oar, lance, harpoon, and keg in its proper place. There were even ivory knives on the cleats. And the model of the ship itself had every rope and block, and every ring-bolt in the deck; and the deck showed each plank, even to the worn places in the actual deck.