ye be findun’ your way?’ ‘By way o’ me tongue,’ says Jummy; ’I’d be askun’ the folk I met.’  ‘I told ye ut was sumple,’ says your father.  ’Ut’s the very same way my Donald finds the road tull Voloparaiso.  He asks every shup he meets upon the sea tull ot last he meets wuth a shup thot’s been tull Voloparaiso, an’ the captun o’ thot shup tells hum the way.’  An’ Jummy scratches hus head an’ says he understands an’ thot ut’s a very sumple motter after all.”

The skipper chuckled at the joke, and his tired blue eyes were merry for the moment.

“He was a thun chap, thot mate-fellow, oz thun oz you an’ me putt together,” he remarked after a time, a slight twinkle in his eye of appreciation of the bull.  But the twinkle quickly disappeared and the blue eyes took on a bleak and wintry look.  “What dud he do ot Voloparaiso but land sux hundred fathom o’ chain cable an’ take never a receipt from the lighter-mon.  I was gettun’ my clearance ot the time.  When we got tull sea, I found he hod no receipt for the cable.

“‘An’ ye no took a receipt for ut?’ says I.

“‘No,’ says he.  ‘Wasna ut goin’ direct tull the agents?’

“‘How long ha’ ye been goin’ tull sea,’ says I, ’not tull be knowin’ the mate’s duty uz tull deluver no cargo wuthout receipt for same?  An’ on the West Coast ot thot.  What’s tull stop the lighter-mon from stealun’ a few lengths o’ ut?’

“An’ ut come out uz I said.  Sux hundred hundred went over the side, but four hundred an’ ninety-five was all the agents received.  The lighter-mon swore ut was all he received from the mate—­four hundred an’ ninety-five fathom.  I got a letter from the owners ot Portland.  They no blamed the mate for ut, but me, an’ me ashore ot the time on shup’s buzz’ness.  I could no be in the two places ot the one time.  An’ the letters from the owners an’ the agents uz still comun’ tull me.

“Thot mate-fellow was no a proper sailor, an’ no a mon tull work for owners.  Dudna he want tull break me wuth the Board of Trade for bein’ below my marks?  He said as much tull the bos’n.  An’ he told me tull my face homeward bound thot I’d been half an inch under my marks.  ‘Twas at Portland, loadun’ cargo un fresh watter an’ goin’ tull Comox tull load bunker coal un salt watter.  I tell ye, Annie, ut takes close fuggerin’, an’ I was half an inch under the load-line when the bunker coal was un.  But I’m no tellun’ any other body but you.  An’ thot mate-fellow untendun’ tull report me tull the Board o’ Trade, only for thot he saw fut tull be sliced un two pieces on the steam-pipe cover.

“He was a fool.  After loadun’ ot Portland I hod tull take on suxty tons o’ coal tull last me tull Comox.  The charges for lighterun’ was heavy, an’ no room ot the coal dock.  A French barque was lyin’ alongside the dock an’ I spoke tull the captun, askun’ hum what he would charge when work for the day was done, tull haul clear for a couple o’ hours an’ let me un.  ‘Twenty dollars,’ said he.  Ut was savun’ money on lighters tull the owner, an’ I gave ut tull hum.  An’ thot night, after dark, I hauled un an’ took on the coal.  Then I started tull go out un the stream an’ drop anchor—­under me own steam, of course.