For a moment Captain Mittens stood perfectly silent, bristling to the very points of his whiskers with passion.  Then he ordered in a hoarse kind of growl:  “Bring the bags.”

Instantly two ugly black and white spotted cats dived into the little cabin and brought out an armful of neat, black, cloth bags with drawing strings in them.  “One moment,” commanded Mittens in a very stern voice, “any plunder?”

Growler, the mate, bowed low before his chief. “’Ere’s a werry ’andsome weapon, sir,” said he, handing over Rudolf’s sword.  “Nothing else on the little ones, sir, but this ’ere gentleman”—­pointing to the False Hare—­“was loaded down with jools.”

Hearty cheers sprang from the furry throats of the crew, while broad grins spread over their whiskered faces as they listened to this pleasing news.

“Silence,” snarled Mittens—­and every cat was still.  “Now then,” he commanded Growler, “hand ’em over.”

Very much against his will, Growler emptied his pockets of the False Hare’s jewelry and handed it over to his Chief.  Mittens took the gold watch and chain, the flashing pin and studs, the beautiful diamond ring and put them all on, glaring defiantly at his crew as he did so.  So fierce was that scowl of his, so sharp and white the teeth he flashed at them, so round and terrible his gleaming yellow eyes that not a cat dared object, though the faces of all plainly showed their anger and disappointment at this unfair division of the spoils.

“Now, what’s in there,” demanded Mittens, as he gave a contemptuous kick to the False Hare’s dress-suit case.  Growler opened it and took out a dozen paper collars, a little pair of pink paper pajamas, and a small black bottle labeled “Hare Restorer.”

“All of ’em worth about two cents retail,” snorted Mittens with a bitter look at the False Hare.  “And that umbrella, I see, is not made to go up!  Huh!  Drowning’s too good for you!”

“I feel so myself, sir,” said the False Hare humbly.  “You see,” he added, wiping away a tear with the back of his paw, “I’m so fond of the water!”

Mittens thought a moment, keeping his eye firmly fastened on the Hare.  “I’ll fix you,” he cried, “I’ll tie you up in one of those bags!”

The False Hare put his paw behind his ear.  “Bags?” said he.  “Excuse me, sir, but did you say bags?”

“Yes, I did,” roared the Pirate Chief.  “Bags!  Bags!  Bags!”

“Oh, thank you!” cried the False Hare cheerily.  “Just my favorite resting-place—­a nice snug bag.  Mind you have them draw the string tight, won’t you?”

Mittens flew into a terrible passion.  “I have it,” he roared, “I’ll send you adrift!  Here, boys, get that boat ready!”

Then the Hare began to cry, to sob, to beg for mercy, till the children felt actually ashamed of him.  “Look here, Mittens,” Rudolf began.

“Captain Mittens,” corrected the pirate coldly.