“It’s only fit and proper he should pay a little for the passage,” said Dan.

“How much?” demanded Joe, banging the little triangular table with his fist, and thereby causing the man with the antimacassar to drop a couple of stitches.

“Twenty-five shillings,” said old Dan reluctantly; “an’ I’ll spend the odd five shillings on you chaps when we git to Limehouse.”

“I don’t want your money,” said Joe; “there’s a empty bunk he can have; and mind, you take all the responsibility—­I won’t have nothing to do with it.”

“Thanks, Joe,” said the old man, with a sigh of relief; “he’s a nice young chap, you’re sure to take to him.  I’ll go and give him the tip to come aboard at once.”

He ran up on deck again and whistled softly, and a figure, which had been hiding behind a pile of empties, came out, and, after looking cautiously around, dropped noiselessly on to the schooner’s deck, and followed its protector below.

“Good evening, mates,” said the linesman, gazing curiously and anxiously round him as he deposited a bundle on the table, and laid his swagger cane beside it.

“What’s your height?” inquired Joe abruptly.  “Seven foot?”

“No, only six foot four,” said the new arrival, modestly.  “I’m not proud of it.  It’s much easier for a small man to slip off than a big one.”

“It licks me,” said Joe thoughtfully, “what they want ’em back for—­I should think they’d be glad to git rid o’ such”—­he paused a moment while politeness struggled with feeling, and added, “skunks.”

“P’raps I’ve a reason for being a skunk, p’raps I haven’t,” retorted Private Smith, as his face fell.

“This’ll be your bunk,” interposed Dan hastily; “put your things in there, and when you are in yourself you’ll be as comfortable as a oyster in its shell.”

The visitor complied, and, first extracting from the bundle some tins of meat and a bottle of whiskey, which he placed upon the table, nervously requested the honour of the present company to supper.  With the exception of Joe, who churlishly climbed back into his bunk, the men complied, all agreeing that boys of Billy’s age should be reared on strong teetotal principles.

Supper over, Private Smith and his protectors retired to their couches, where the former lay in much anxiety until two in the morning, when they got under way.

“It’s all right, my lad,” said Dan, after the watch had been set, as he came and stood by the deserter’s bunk; “I ’ve saved you—­I’ve saved you for twenty-five shillings.”

“I wish it was more,” said Private Smith politely.

The old man sighed—­and waited.

“I’m quite cleaned out, though,” continued the deserter, “except fi’pence ha’penny.  I shall have to risk going home in my uniform as it is.”

“Ah, you’ll get there all right,” said Dan cheerfully; “and when you get home no doubt you ’ve got friends, and if it seems to you as you ’d like to give a little more to them as assisted you in the hour of need, you won’t be ungrateful, my lad, I know.  You ain’t the sort.”