“My lockers!” groaned the skipper.  “Good heavens! there’s things in them lockers I wouldn’t have her see for the world; women are so fussy an’ so fond o’ making something out o’ nothing.  There’s a pore female touched a bit in the upper storey, what’s been writing love letters to me, George.”

“Three pore females,” said the precise mate; “the missis has got all the letters tied up with blue ribbon.  Very far gone they was, too, poor creeters.”

“George,” said the skipper in a broken voice, “I’m a ruined man.  I’ll never hear the end o’ this.  I guess I’ll go an’ sleep for’ard this voyage, and lie low.  Be keerful you don’t let on I’m aboard, an’ after she’s home I’ll take the ship again, and let the thing leak out gradual.  Come to life bit by bit, so to speak.  It wouldn’t do to scare her, George, an’ in the meantime I’ll try an’ think o’ some explanation to tell her.  You might be thinking too.”

“I’ll do what I can,” said the mate.

“Crack me up to the old girl all you can; tell her I used to write to all sorts o’ people when I got a drop of drink in me; say how thoughtful I always was of her.  You might tell her about that gold locket I bought for her an’ got robbed of.”

“Gold locket?” said the mate in tones of great surprise.  “What gold locket?  Fust I’ve heard of it.”

“Any gold locket,” said the skipper irritably; “anything you can think of; you needn’t be pertikler.  Arter that you can drop little hints about people being buried in mistake for others, so as to prepare her a bit—­I don’t want to scare her.”

“Leave it to me,” said the mate.

“I’ll go an’ turn in now, I’m dead tired,” said the skipper.  “I s’pose Joe and the boy’s asleep?”

George nodded, and meditatively watched the other as he pushed back the fore-scuttle and drew it after him as he descended.  Then a thought struck the mate, and he ran hastily forward and threw his weight on the scuttle just in time to frustrate the efforts of Joe and the boy, who were coming on deck to tell him a new ghost story.  The confusion below was frightful, the skipper’s cry of “It’s only me, Joe,” not possessing the soothing effect which he intended.  They calmed down at length, after their visitor had convinced them that he really was flesh and blood and fists, and the boy’s attention being directed to a small rug in the corner of the foc’s’le, the skipper took his bunk and was soon fast asleep.

He slept so soundly that the noise of the vessel getting under way failed to rouse him, and she was well out in the open river when he awoke, and after cautiously protruding his head through the scuttle, ventured on deck.  For some time he stood eagerly sniffing the cool, sweet air, and then, after a look round, gingerly approached the mate, who was at the helm.

“Give me a hold on her,” said he.

“You had better get below again, if you don’t want the missis to see you,” said the mate.  “She’s gettin’ up—­nasty temper she’s in too.”