“You’re a lucky dog, Chester!” exclaimed young Harvey; “you seem to have dropped plump into the skipper’s good books all at once. It is not often that we mids are honoured with an invitation to the cabin-table, I can tell you.”

“Oh! come now, Harvey, I protest against your imposing upon the unfortunate Chester in that manner,” interposed little Markham (nicknamed “Goliath” because he measured exactly three feet, six inches in his stockings). “You know as well as I do that he is invited into the cabin to-night, in order that the skipper may give him a good wigging for that boarding business yesterday. I hope he won’t be very hard upon you, old chap,” he added, in a tone of deep sympathy, turning to me, “for somehow I have taken quite a liking to you, and if I had been at your elbow yesterday, instead of that over-grown lout, Harvey, I would have kept you out of the serape. You must be very quiet and submissive when he pitches into you, and plead ignorance—say you will be a good boy and not do it again, you know.”

“But have I really done anything very dreadful?” I inquired, more than half taken in by the young monkey’s serious manner.

“Oh, Lord! hold me, somebody, while I faint!” he exclaimed, turning up the whites of his eyes like a dying duck in a thunder-storm, and flinging himself so suddenly backwards into the arms of Harvey that the latter went down stern foremost, landing on the deck with one hand in the beef-kid and the other in the blacking-box, while Markham rolled on the top of him, kicking spasmodically, and simulating the feeble struggles of an expiring person.

Luckily for “Goliath,” it was the ludicrous side of this episode which presented itself most strongly to his victim, or a sound thrashing would, in all probability, have been his portion; as it was, the pair scrambled to their feet again with a hearty laugh, as good friends as ever.

“I declare, Chester, you’ll be the death of me some day, if you go on like this,” resumed my would-be tormentor; “your touching innocence would move a brass monkey to tears. Why,” he continued, looking round and addressing in low, measured tones, intended to express overwhelming astonishment, the fragment of glass which still clung to one corner of its frame, and, hanging suspended against the bulkhead, did duty as a mirror—“he asks if he has really done anything very dreadful!! Is it actually possible, my gentle infant, that you are ignorant of the fact that you yesterday took the command out of your superior officers’ hands, and that the punishment for such a crime—when it happens to be a 

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