To the eyes of Mr. Chalk and his wife Biddlecombe appeared to have put on holiday attire for the occasion.  With smiling satisfaction they led the way to the ferry, Mrs. Chalk’s costume exciting so much attention that the remainder of the party hung behind to watch Edward Tredgold fasten his bootlace.  It took two boats to convey the luggage to the schooner, and the cargo of the smaller craft shifting in mid-stream, the boatman pulled the remainder of the way with a large portion of it in his lap.  Unfortunately, his mouth was free.

Mr. Chalk could not restrain a cry of admiration as he clambered on board the Fair Emily.  The deck was as white as that of a man-of-war, and her brass-work twinkled in the sun.  White paint work and the honest and healthy smell of tar completed his satisfaction.  His chest expanded as he sniffed the breeze, and with a slight nautical roll paced up and down the spotless deck.

[Illustration:  “A slight nautical roll.”]

“And now,” said Captain Brisket, after a couple of sturdy seamen had placed the men’s luggage in the new cabin, “which of you ladies is going to have my state-room, and which the mate’s bunk?”

Mrs. Chalk started; she had taken it for granted that she was to have the state-room.  She turned and eyed her friend anxiously.

“The bunk seems to get the most air,” said Mrs. Stobell.  “And it’s nearer the ladder in case of emergencies.”

“You have it, dear,” said Mrs. Chalk, tenderly.  “I’m not nervous.”

“But you are so fond of fresh air,” said Mrs. Stobell, with a longing glance at the state-room.  “I don’t like to be selfish.”

“You’re not,” said Mrs. Chalk, with conviction.

“Chalk and I will toss for it,” said Mr. Stobell, who had been listening with some impatience.  He spun a coin in the air, and Mr. Chalk, winning the bunk for his indignant wife, was at some pains to dilate upon its manifold advantages.  Mrs. Stobell, with a protesting smile, had her things carried into the state-room, while Mrs. Chalk stood by listening coldly to plans for putting her heavy luggage in the hold.

“What time do we start?” inquired Tredgold senior, moving towards the companion-ladder.

“Four o’clock, sir,” replied Brisket.

Mr. Stobell, his heavy features half-lit by an unwonted smile, turned and surveyed his friends.  “I’ve ordered a little feed at the King of Hanover at half-past one,” he said, awkwardly.  “We’ll be back on board by half-past three, captain.”

Captain Brisket bowed, and the party were making preparations for departure when a hitch was caused by the behaviour of Mrs. Chalk, who was still brooding over the affair of the state-room.  In the plainest of plain terms she declared that she did not want any luncheon and preferred to stay on board.  Her gloom seemed to infect the whole party, Mr. Stobell in particular being so dejected that his wife eyed him in amazement.