“No offence,” said the boy hastily, “no offence. It’s some I bought cheap, and our chaps said I’d been ’ad. I only wanted to see what you thought of it.” The old man hesitated a moment, and then taking the seat beside him, accepted the proffered pouch and smelt the contents critically. Then he drew a small black clay from his pocket and slowly filled it. “Smokes all right,” he said after a few puffs. He leaned back, and half closing his eyes, smoked with the enjoyment of an old smoker to whom a pipe is a somewhat rare luxury, while Henry regarded his shabby clothes and much-patched boots with great interest. “Stranger here?” inquired the old man amiably. “Schooner _Seamew_ down in the harbor,” said Henry, indicating the distant town of Stourwich with a wave of his hand. “Ay, ay,” said the old man, and smoked in silence. “Got to stay here for a few days,” said Henry, watching him out of the tail of his eye; “then back.” “London?” suggested the other. “Northfleet,” said Henry carelessly, “that’s where we came from.” The old man’s face twitched ever so slightly, and he blew out a cloud of smoke. “Do you live there?” he inquired. “Wapping,” said Henry; “but I know Northfleet very well—Gravesend too. Ever been there?” “Never,” said the old man emphatically; “never.” “Rather a nice place, I think,” said Henry; “I like it better than Wapping. We’ve sailed from there a year now. Our skipper is fond of it too. He’s rather sweet on a girl who’s teacher in a school there.” “What school?” asked the old man. The boy gave a slight laugh. “Well, it’s no good telling you if you don’t know the place,” he said easily; “it’s a girls’ school.” “I used to know a man that lived there,” said the other, speaking slowly and carefully. “What’s her name?” “I forget,” said the boy, yawning. Conversation flagged, and the two sat idly watching the last of the children as they toiled slowly towards home from the sands. The sun had set and the air was getting chilly. “I’ll be getting home,” said the old man. “Goodnight, my lad.” “Good-night to you,” said the well-mannered Henry. He watched the old man’s still strong figure as it passed slowly up the steps, and allowing him to get some little distance start, cautiously followed. He followed him up the steps and along the cliff, the figure in front never halting until it reached a small court at the back of a livery stable; then, heedless of the small shadow, now very close behind, it pushed open the door of a dirty little house and entered. The shadow crept up and paused irresolute, and then, after a careful survey of the place, stole silently and swiftly away. The shadow, choosing the road because it was quicker, now danced back to Stourwich, and jumping lightly on to the schooner, came behind the cook and thumped him heavily on the back. Before the cook could seize him he had passed on to Sam, and embracing as much of that gentleman’s waist as possible, vainly besought him to dance.