"Don't talk so, but bring Pan along. You needn't be afraid, I shall not try to go."

"Par--role, lad?"

"Yes, parole," said Sydney.

"Ah, well, you are a gent, and I can trust you," said Barney. "Now then," he added, as he stirred up his son with the toe of his natty evening shoe; "get up."

"No, no, no," whined Pan.

"If you don't get up I'll kick you over the palings. Get up, you ugly young lubber, or I'll--"

"Oh!" Pan winced, and rose to his knees, eagerly scanning his father's hands in the gloom to see if the rope's-end was visible.

"And, look here, Barney," said Sydney, quietly, "you are not to hit Pan."

"Not what, my lad?"

"You are not to rope's-end him."

"Who says so?"

"I do."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, look here, my lad, he's hurt my feelings so that I'm going to lock myself up with him in his bedroom, and then I'm going to skin him."

"Oh, oh!" cried Pan.

"You are not going to touch him, but to bring him before my father."

"'Fore the skipper?" said Barney, in a puzzled voice. "Well, yes, my lad, he's in full command. There is something in that."

"But you shouted, and said some one was coming. Who is it?"

"Oh, that was only a manoofer, Master Syd, just to scare you into s'rending."

"Then there is no one coming?"

"It's par--role, mind."

"Yes, parole, of course."

"And you won't try to cut and run again?"

"No--no!" cried Sydney, impatiently.

"No one. Now then you, Pan, my man, hyste yerself on them two legs o'

yourn. On'y you wait till I'm a-handlin' that there bit o' rope."

"You touch him if you dare!" cried Sydney. "My father will punish him."

"Oh, Master Syd!" cried Pan.

"Hold your row, will you, you lubber," growled Barney, seizing his son by the collar, setting him on his legs, and giving him a good shake at the same time.

Pan uttered a low moan, and shuffling his feet along the gravel, allowed himself to be led towards the gate.

Sydney shivered as he felt that he was approaching sentence.

"Is my father in the dining-room?"

"Yes, Master Sydney.--Here you, lift up them pretty hoofs o' yours, will yer!"

"Is my uncle with him?"

"Yes, Master Syd."

"Have they been trying to find us?"

"No, Master Syd. The skipper said as if you was such a young cur as to go and disgrace yourself like that 'ere by running away and desarting the King's colours, he wouldn't stir a step arter yer."

"Oh!" groaned Sydney to himself. Then in a whisper, "What did my uncle say?"

"Said Amen to it, and that he'd been fool enough to give you the money to go with."

"No, no, Barney, I didn't take his money."

"Ah, well, I don't know nothing 'bout that. But here's the gate. On you go first."

"No; go on first with Pan."

"And let you shoot off."

"Am I not on parole?"

"Ay, ay. Forgetted that. Now then, you swab; on with you."

As Barney led the way towards the front door, Sydney noticed that there was a light in the dining-room, whose windows were open, the weather being still warm and fine.

"Stop, Barney," he said, after a sudden thought, "we'll go in there through the window."

"Nay, my lad, nay," said the boatswain; "it'll look as if I was spellin'

arter a gla.s.s o' wine."

"Never mind. I'll go first, and you bring in Pan afterwards."

"Oh, Master Syd, don't."

"Yah! you swab, be quiet!" said Barney, giving his unfortunate son another shake. "Wait till the admiral's p.r.o.nounced court-martial on you; and then--"