“I can’t take all these things without giving you something for ’em,” said the mate.  “Here, wait a bit.”

He dived into his cabin, and, after a hasty search, brought out some garments which he placed on the table before his commander.

“I wouldn’t wear ’em, no, not to drown myself in,” declared Evans after a brief glance; “they ain’t even decent.”

“So much the better,” said the mate; “it’ll be more of a contrast with me.”

After a slight contest the skipper gave way, and the mate, after an elaborate toilette, went on deck and began to make himself agreeable, while his chief skulked below trying to muster up courage to put in an appearance.

“Where’s the captain?” inquired Miss Cooper, after his absence had been so prolonged as to become noticeable.

“He’s below, dressin’, I b’leeve,” replied the mate simply.

Miss Cooper, glancing at his attire, smiled softly to herself, and prepared for something startling, and she got it; for a more forlorn, sulky-looking object than the skipper, when he did appear, had never been seen on the deck of the Falcon, and his London betrothed glanced at him hot with shame and indignation.

“Whatever have you got those things on for?” she whispered.

“Work, my dear—­work,” replied the skipper.

“Well, mind you don’t lose any of the pieces,” said the dear suavely; “you mightn’t be able to match that cloth.”

“I’ll look after that,” said the skipper, reddening.  “You must excuse me talkin’ to you now.  I’m busy.”

Miss Cooper looked at him indignantly, and, biting her lip, turned away, and started a desperate flirtation with the mate, to punish him.  Evans watched them with mingled feelings as he busied himself with various small jobs on the deck, his wrath being raised to boiling point by the behaviour of the cook, who, being a poor hand at disguising his feelings, came out of the galley several times to look at him.

From this incident a coolness sprang up between the skipper and the girl, which increased hourly.  At times the skipper weakened, but the watchful mate was always on hand to prevent mischief.  Owing to his fostering care Evans was generally busy, and always gruff; and Miss Cooper, who was used to the most assiduous attentions from him, knew not whether to be most bewildered or most indignant.  Four times in one day did he remark in her hearing that a sailor’s ship was his sweetheart, while his treatment of his small prospective brother in-law, when he expostulated with him on the state of his wardrobe, filled that hitherto pampered youth with amazement.  At last, on the fourth night out, as the little schooner was passing the coast of Cornwall, the mate came up to him as he was steering, and patted him heavily on the back.

“It’s all right, cap’n,” said he.  “You’ve lost the prettiest little girl in England.”

“What?” said the skipper, in incredulous tones.