Behind the bar-parlour and the staircase were two rooms, that projected immediately over the river, with their frames resting on the piles. One was sometimes used as a parlour for the reception of mates and skippers, though such customers were rare; the other held cases, bottles and barrels. To this latter I turned, and mounting the three steps behind the staircase, pushed open the door; and was mightily astonished at what I saw. There was my grandfather, kneeling, and there was one half of Bill Stagg the purlman, standing waist-deep in the floor. For a moment it was beyond me to guess what he was standing on, seeing that there was nothing below but water; but presently I reasoned that the tide was high, and he must be standing in his boat. He was handing my grandfather some small packages, and he saw me at once and pointed. Grandfather Nat turned sharply, and stared, and for a moment I feared he was angry. Then he grinned, shook his finger at me, and brought it back to his lips with a tap. "All right--my pardner," he whispered, and Bill Stagg grinned too. The business was short enough, and in a few seconds Bill Stagg, with another grin at me, and something like a wink, ducked below. My grandfather, with noiseless care, put back in place a trap-door--not a square, noticeable thing, but a clump of boards of divers lengths that fell into place with as innocent an aspect as the rest of the floor. This done, he rolled a barrel over the place, and dropped the contents of the packages into a row of buckets that stood near. "What's that, Grandfather Nat?" I ventured to ask, when all was safely accomplished. My grandfather grinned once more, and shook his head. "Go on," he said, "I'll tell you in the bar-parlour. May as well now as let ye find out." He blew out the light of his candle and followed me. "Well," he said, wrapping my cold feet in my nightgown as I sat on his knee. "What brought ye down, Stevy? Did we make a noise?" I shook my head. "I--I felt lonely," I said. "Lonely? Well, never mind. An' so ye came to look for me, eh? Well, now, this is another one o' the things as you mustn't talk about, Stevy--a little secret between ourselves, bein' pardners." "The stuff in the pail, Gran'fa' Nat?" "The stuff in the pail, an' the hole in the floor. You're sure you won't get talkin', an' get your poor old gran'father in trouble?" Yes, I was quite sure; though I could not see as yet what there was to cause trouble. "The stuff Bill Stagg brought, Stevy, is 'bacca. 'Bacca smashed down so hard that a pound ain't bigger than that matchbox. An' I pitch it in the water to swell it out again; see?" I still failed to understand the method of its arrival. "Did Bill Stagg steal it, gran'father?" I asked.