Aboard the "St. George."

The Captain took his nephew directly to the harbor. The boy cried softly to himself as he trudged along, and at last his uncle said to him in a mild tone of voice, "Willy, stop your crying. See, all the passersby are looking at you. If I were a boy like you, I would be only too happy to get out of such a tiresome old place where you just learn and pray all day long. I am going to take you into quite a different school, one in which all is bright and gay. On board the ship you won't have any old exercises to do."

"Oh, but I liked everything at the College so much, and in the new school there won't anybody know me," wailed Willy. "And you—are you really my uncle?"

"Most assuredly. How can you doubt if? Just look at me! Have I not the same hooked nose that your father had?"

"Yes, but you have no such friendly eye. And my father always had so much reverence for the Father Prefect."

"While I speak to the Father Prefect only compliments in which all the i's are dotted and all the t's are crossed most punctiliously—ha! ha!—not so bad. But now see here: let us strike a bargain. You recognize me as your uncle to whom you owe obedience, and everything will be all right. If you go on in this obstinate, defiant way, you shall, so sure as my name is John Brown, this very day make the acquaintance of the cat-o'-nine-tails, and take a diet of bread and water in the company of the rats in the hold of the ship for awhile."

Willy had once seen a cabin boy flogged with a cat-o'-nine-tails, and there was nothing in the world which he feared more than rats, so he thought it best to make peace with his uncle. After a pause he said:

"If you really are my uncle, I must obey you, but don't whip me, and don't shut me up with the rats, please.—If you wish me to love you very much indeed, send me back to the College."

"Don't say another word about that College," snarled the Captain with a dark look. "Now dry your eyes. Here we are on the shore, and here is our boat. Get in, obey—else—"

The Captain sprang into the boat and Willy followed without more ado. He looked back toward the city to seek among the domes that of the Cathedral of the Holy Saviour, and soon recognized it by the scaffolding. At sight of the glittering crosses tears came to his eyes, but the thought that those he had left behind would pray for him comforted him. Unmoved he gazed while the boat glided in and out between the great ships at anchor in the harbor, and at last, far out, they reached the ship they sought. The "St. George" was a beautiful boat with three masts, and as we have said Willy had made more than one trip on it with his father. He was then the darling of the crew. Now as he climbed the ladder behind the Captain strange faces peered down at him over the railing; there were new officers, and officers and crew alike seemed rough fellows. Late in the evening as he stood on the rear deck watching the golden crosses of the Church of the Holy Saviour in the light of the setting sun, he heard a well-known voice behind him speak his name.

"Oh, it is you, Tommy Green!" said Willy looking around in a friendly manner. "So there really is after all one old friend on board. Are you still the second mate? Where are James and John and all the rest?"

"Well, Master Willy," said Tommy, "they are all gone, one to the 'South Star,' and the others to 'The Water Rose.' I was on the point of leaving"—then he added, looking around cautiously and lowering his voice, "for the life on the 'St. George' is not what it was when your father was alive. God rest his soul! Now instead of rice sacks and bales of merchandise we carry human freight—slant-eyed, pig-tailed Chinamen bound for the gold fields of Australia."

"I am so glad you are here, Tommy; there is one human being on board I know," repeated Willy.

"Why Master Willy, do you not know your uncle, the Captain?"

"I did not know until today that I had an uncle."

"Is that possible? Well, your father surely had no reason to be proud of his brother. Why, in a single night he gambled away 'The Gold Nixie' and more, too. I believe that he would gamble away the 'St. George' if it were his, but it belongs to you, Master Willy. I ought not to say anything to such a young lad as you about the matter—I know that, but—"

In the cabin Redfox, the first officer, and the Captain sat in earnest conversation. "Redfox, your wish is fulfilled. My nephew is on board, but, do you know, now that I have seen the boy—he so much resembles my poor dear brother when he was his age—I have not the heart to carry out our plan," said the Captain.

"Hm, hm," answered the first officer, stroking his red beard, and giving the Captain a wicked side glance, "hm—and we have everything so well planned. It is our only salvation. Must I repeat the reasons why?"

"It is not necessary; I understand them, but when our salvation is bought at such a price—shall I say it?—bought at the price of crime."

"Mr. Brown, you can do it, and it is not only your salvation, but also mine.—I am far from planning to sacrifice the half million for which the 'St. George' is insured on account of any evasion on your part. The half million will suffice to pay our debts and give us enough to live on for awhile. After your brother had the good grace to die just at the right time—"

"Do not speak to me of his death. As time goes on I become more and more convinced, Redfox, that you had a hand in his death."

"Your brother died a natural death," said the first officer with a lowering look; "and even if that were not the case, the most of the suspicion would fall on you instead of me. And so surely as I stand here, I swear to you, that if you upset my plan I'll manage matters so you'll be condemned as the murderer of your brother. Since his death nothing stands in our way except this boy. Now, if he should—accidentally—follow in the footsteps of his father, he would surely go to heaven, that is, if what the priests teach is true. If he does not die now in the days of his innocence, ten chances to one, he will grow up to be as reckless and worthless as ourselves. It would be the greatest luck imaginable for him, if now—by chance, of course,—he were to make his journey to heaven."

"True, most true. I wish that I had died when I was his age," groaned the Captain.

"You leave all with me. The boy is on board. That is enough—"