"What a fool you are," exclaimed Burrell, "to risk your neck for such trumpery! It would be long ere you would risk it for your master." "I have known many hazard theirs for a less cause--and, to say the truth, there's a deal to be learned from the wild sea-birds," replied Robin, as if he had not heard the latter portion of the sentence; "I have a regard for the creeturs, which are like kings in the air. Many an hour have I sat up yonder, listening to the noises of earth and the noises of heaven, while the shrill note of the gull, the chatter of the guillemot, the heron's bitter scream, the hoarse croaking of the cormorant, have been all around me: and, indeed, the birds know me well enough. There's a pair of old gulls----" "Robin! I came not here to talk of cormorants and gulls; I want to ask you a question, and I expect an honest answer." Robin made the nearest approach to a bow he was ever guilty of. "Honesty, Robin, is a most valuable quality." "So it is, sir--and, like all valuables, ought to fetch a good price." "You should be a disciple of Manasseh Ben Israel! Why, you have hardly left my service two days, and then I had a right to your honesty. You are as bad as a Jew." "If so, I have surely a right to extort money from a Christian." "A truce to your jests, you ill-favoured loon: I want no man's labour for nothing--there are some broad pieces to stop your mouth; and now, when saw you Hugh Dalton?" "Not since I had the honour to wait upon you, sir, to London." "But he is off the coast." "Under favour, sir, that accounts for my not seeing him on it." "Scoundrel!" exclaimed Burrell fiercely; "no such mummery with me, or I'll soon put you upon salt-water rations. Dalton, I say, is off the coast; I would speak with him, I _must_ speak with him; and as I have good reason to know you telegraph each other, manage so that he meet me under the cavern:--do you understand, you sprat-spawn? Under the cavern; to-morrow night, at eleven; we can serve each other." Burrell, when he had retraced his steps about five yards, turned round and added, "You owe me amends for your base desertion the night before last, which I have not forgotten." Robin, cap in hand, watched his receding footsteps with an underlook; and then, attended by his faithful Crisp, repaired to the cottage, where a cannikin of porridge, seasoned by the hand of his mother with good spicery, and more than half composed of double-dub, awaited his arrival. CHAPTER VI. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. SHAKSPEARE.