The cargo—a very small one—was out by three o’clock that afternoon, and the crew, having replaced the hatches and cleaned up, went ashore together, after extending an invitation to Henry—which was coldly declined—to go with them. The skipper was already ashore, and the boy, after enduring for some time the witticisms of the mate, on the subject of apples, went too. For some time he wandered aimlessly about the town, with his hands in his pockets. The season was drawing to an end, but a few holiday-makers were lounging about on the parade, or venturing carefully along the dreary breakwater to get the full benefit of the sea air. Idly watching these and other objects of interest on the sea-shore, the boy drifted on until he found himself at the adjoining watering-place of Overcourt. The parade ended in two flights of steps, one of which led to the sands and the other to the road and the cliffs above. For people who cared for neither, thoughtful local authorities had placed a long seat, and on this Henry placed himself and sat for some time, regarding with the lenity of age the erratic sports of the children below. He had sat there for some time when he became idly interested in the movements of an old man walking along the sands to the steps. Arrived at the foot he disappeared from sight, then a huge hand gripped the handrail, and a peaked cloth cap was revealed to the suddenly interested Henry, for the face of the old man was the face of the well-thumbed photograph in the foc’sle. Unconscious of the wild excitement in the breast of the small boy on the seat, the old man paused to take breath for the next flight. “Have you—got such a thing as a—as a match—about you?” said Henry, trying to speak calmly, but failing. “You’re over-young to smoke,” said the old man, turning round and regarding him. At any other time, with any other person, Henry’s retort to this would have been rude, but the momentous events which depended on his civility restrained him. “I find it soothing,” he said with much gravity, “if I get overworked or worried.” The old man regarded him with unfeigned astonishment, a grim smile lurking at the corners of his well-hidden mouth. “If you were my boy,” he said shortly, as he put his forefinger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a time-stained lucifer, “do you know what I’d do to you?” “Stop me smoking?” hazarded Henry cheerfully. “I would that,” said the other, turning to go. “How old were you when you started smoking?” asked the boy. “About your age, I expect,” said the old man slowly; “but I was a much bigger chap than you are. A stunted little chap like you ought not to smoke.” Henry smiled wanly, and began to think that the five pounds would be well earned. “Will you have a pipe?” he said, proffering a gaudy pouch. “Confound you!” said the old man, flashing into sudden weak anger. “When I want your tobacco I’ll ask you for it.”