A light, quick step on the wharf attracted the attention of the skipper as he leaned against the side smoking. It stopped just behind him, and turning round he found himself gazing into the soft brown eyes of the prettiest girl he had ever seen. “Is Mr. Jewell on board, please?” she asked, with a smile. “Jewell?” repeated the skipper. “Jewell? Don’t know the name.” “He was on board,” said the girl, somewhat taken aback. “This is the _Elizabeth Barstow_, isn’t it?” “What’s his Christian name?” inquired the skipper, thoughtfully. “Albert,” replied the girl. “Bert,” she added, as the other shook his head. “Oh, the cook!” said the skipper. “I didn’t know his name was Jewell. Yes, he’s in the galley.” He stood eyeing her and wondering in a dazed fashion what she could see in a small, white-faced, slab-sided—— The girl broke in upon his meditations. “How does he cook?” she inquired, smiling. He was about to tell her, when he suddenly remembered the cook’s statement as to his instructor. “He’s getting on,” he said, slowly; “he’s getting on. Are you his sister?” The girl smiled and nodded. “Ye—es,” she said, slowly. “Will you tell him I am waiting for him, please?” The skipper started and drew himself up; then he walked forward and put his head in at the galley. “Bert,” he said, in a friendly voice, “your sister wants to see you.” “_Who?_” inquired Mr. Jewell, in the accents of amazement. He put his head out at the door and nodded, and then, somewhat red in the face with the exercise, drew on his jacket and walked towards her. The skipper followed. “Thank you,” said the girl, with a pleasant smile. “You’re quite welcome,” said the skipper. Mr. Jewell stepped ashore and, after a moment of indecision, shook hands with his visitor. “If you’re down this way again,” said the skipper, as they turned away, “perhaps you’d like to see the cabin. We’re in rather a pickle just now, but if you should happen to come down for Bert to-morrow night—” The girl’s eyes grew mirthful and her lips trembled. “Thank you,” she said. “Some people like looking over cabins,” murmured the skipper. He raised his hand to his cap and turned away. The mate, who had just come on deck, stared after the retreating couple and gave vent to a low whistle. “What a fine gal to pick up with Slushy,” he remarked. “It’s his sister,” said the skipper, somewhat sharply. “The one that taught him to cook?” said the other, hastily. “Here! I’d like five minutes alone with her; I’d give ’er a piece o’ my mind that ’ud do her good. I’d learn ’er. I’d tell her wot I thought of her.” “That’ll do,” said the skipper; “that’ll do. He’s not so bad for a beginner; I’ve known worse.” “Not so bad?” repeated the mate. “Not so bad? Why”—his voice trembled—“ain’t you going to give ’im the chuck, then?”