“Have you heard what that fellow has been saying to me?” demanded Miss Cringle, with a spice of the old temper leavening her voice once more.

“Every word,” said the mate cheerfully.

“Why didn’t you come up and stand by me?” inquired the girl hotly.

The mate hung his head.

“Oh,” said the girl, and her tones were those of acute disappointment, “you’re afraid.”

“I’m not,” said the mate scornfully.

“Why didn’t you come up, then, instead of skulking down here?” inquired the girl.

“The mate scratched the back of his neck and smiled, but weakly.  “Well, I—­I thought”—­he began, and stopped.

“You thought”—­prompted Miss Cringle coldly.

“I thought a little fright would do you good,” said the mate, speaking quickly, “and that it would make you appreciate me a little more when I did come.”

“Ahoy!  Maggie!  Maggie!” came the voice of the graceless varlet who was steering.

“I’ll Maggie him,” said the mate, grinding his teeth, “Why, what the—­ why you ’re crying.”

“I’m not,” sobbed Miss Cringle scornfully.  “I’m in a temper, that’s all.”

“I’ll knock his head off,” said the mate; “you stay down here.”

“Mag-gie!” came the voice again, “Mag—­hullo!”

“Were you calling me, my lad?” said the mate, with dangerous politeness, as he stepped aft.  “Ain’t you afraid of straining that sweet voice o’ yours?  Leave go o’ that tiller.”

The other let go, and the mate’s fist took him heavily in the face and sent him sprawling on the deck.  He rose with a scream of rage and rushed at his opponent, but the mate’s temper, which had suffered badly through his treatment of the last few days, was up, and he sent him heavily down again.

“There’s a little dark dingy hole forward,” said the mate, after waiting some time for him to rise again, “just the place for you to go and think over your sins in.  If I see you come out of it until we get to London, I’ll hurt you.  Now clear.”

The other cleared, and, carefully avoiding the girl, who was standing close by, disappeared below.

“You’ve hurt him,” said the girl, coming up to the mate and laying her hand on his arm.  “What a horrid temper you’ve got.”

“It was him asking you to kiss him that upset me,” said the mate apologetically.

“He put his arm round my waist,” said Miss Cringle, blushing.

“What!” said the mate, stuttering, “put his—­put his arm—­round—­your waist—­like”—­

His courage suddenly forsook him.

“Like what?” inquired the girl, with superb innocence.

“Like that,” said the mate manfully.

“That’ll do,” said Miss Cringle softly, “that’ll do.  You’re as bad as he is, only the worst of it is there is nobody here to prevent you.”

IN BORROWED PLUMES