Not knowing how much start he would have, the cook, despite his hunger and fatigue, pushed on with all the speed of which he was capable. After an hour’s journey he ventured to ask the direction of an embryo ploughman, and wheedled out of him a small, a very small, portion of his breakfast. From the top of the next hill he caught a glimpse of the sea, and taking care to keep this friend of his youth in sight, felt his way along by it to Brittlesea. At midday he begged some broken victuals from a gamekeeper’s cottage, and with renewed vigor resumed his journey, and at ten o’clock that night staggered on to Brittlesea quay and made his way cautiously to the ship. There was nobody on deck, but a light burned in the foc’sle, and after a careful peep below he descended. Henry, who was playing, a losing game of draughts with Sam, looked up with a start, and overturned the board. “Lord love us, cookie!” said Sam, “where ’ave you been?” The cook straightened up, smiling faintly, and gave a wave of his hand which took in all the points of the compass. “Everywhere,” he said wearily. “You’ve been on the spree,” said Sam, regarding him severely. “_Spree!_” said the cook with expression. “_Spree!_” His feelings choked him, and after a feeble attempt to translate them into words, he abandoned the attempt, and turning a deaf ear to Sam’s appeal for information, rolled into his bunk and fell fast asleep. CHAPTER V They got under way at four o’clock next morning, and woke the cook up to assist at 3.30. At 3.45 they woke him again, and at 3.50 dragged him from his bunk and tried to arouse him to a sense of his duties. The cook, with his eyes still closed, crawled back again the moment they left him, and though they had him out twice after that, he went back in the same somnambulistic state and resumed his slumbers. Brittlesea was thirty miles astern when he at length awoke and went on deck, and the schooner was scudding along under a stiff breeze. It was a breeze such as the mate loved, and his face was serene and peaceful until his gaze fell upon the shrinking figure of the cook as it glided softly into the galley. “Cook,” he roared, “come here, you skulking rascal! Where’ve you been all this time?” “I’ve been in trouble, sir,” said the cook humbly; “you’ll ’ardly believe the trouble I’ve been in through trying to do the skipper a kindness.” “Don’t you come none of that with me,” roared the mate warningly. “Where’ve you been? Come, out with it!” The cook, still somewhat weak from his adventures, leaned against the companion, and with much dramatic gesture began his story. As it proceeded the mate’s breath came thick and fast, his color rose, and he became erratic in his steering. Flattered by these symptoms of concern, the cook continued. “That’ll do,” said the mate at last. “I ain’t got to the worst of it yet, sir,” said the cook.