Under the White Ensign: A Naval Story of the Great War
been within sight of Iceland a few times, and don't want to see it again; but I have never set foot ashore. You remember—— Hallo! What's that?"

He gave an involuntary start as something gripped his left hand with a gentle yet firm hold.

Osborne smiled.

"You're a bit jumpy," he said. "Come, this won't do; it's only Laddie. He's always with me on the bridge, you know."

"Hope he hasn't mistaken my hand for a piece of raw beef-steak," remarked Webb, disengaging his hand from the jaws of a large dog. "I'm not afraid of dogs, you know, Osborne, but for the moment I wondered what was up."

"Only his way of showing friendliness," explained the Lieutenant. "I've had him on board ever since he was a pup. He's only fourteen months old now."

"I haven't seen him before."

"No, I kept him ashore while we were commissioning, and he generally keeps down below for the first twenty-four hours at sea. He'll be a pal to you, Webb; almost as much as Cinders. Well, I'll leave him with you. Stop there, Laddie, there's a good dog. Call me directly you sight Cape Villano light, Webb. Keep it well on the port bow; we're off a tricky coast, you know."

Left alone the Sub stooped and patted the silky hair of the sheep-dog's head. Webb was one of those fellows to whom most dogs take at sight. This animal was no exception to the general rule.

Laddie was a large bob-tailed sheep-dog standing more than two feet from the ground—or rather, deck—and powerfully built. Even in the dim light Webb noticed one peculiarity. The animal's eyes were of a turquoise-blue colour and gleamed in the dark like those of a cat.

Suddenly the animal bounded to the weather side of the bridge and, placing his front paws on the guard-rail, gave vent to three deep, angry barks.

"What's the matter, old boy?" asked Webb, peering in vain to ascertain the cause of the dog's excitability.

Hearing his pet's warning bark Lieutenant Osborne was on the bridge in a trice. One glance at Laddie was sufficient.

"Action stations!" he roared in stentorian tones; then, "Hard-a-port, quartermaster!"

Even as the spokes of the steam steering-gear revolved rapidly 
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