sked if it might not be late afternoon instead, because he had cargo from the Indies for sale, and in the morning certain merchants were to visit his vessel. Truth to tell he was

n, so that all the governor's time must be fully occupied. But Bucklaw said, with great candour, that unfortunately he had to sail for Boston within thirty-six hours, to keep engagements with divers assignees for whom he had special cargo. If his excellency, he said, would come out to his ship the next evening when the shows were done, he would be proud to have him see his racketing little cra

re at a certain hour to row the governor and his friends to the Nell Gwynn

ost, taciturn as ever. The governor and his friends had gone straight to the drawing-room, so that Morris and he were alone. Wine was set before the s

scal. "Ay," said he, "but many's the sinner has wished

that, changed almost on the instant. "A good thrust, mighty Scot," he said. "Now what say you

ome in from the garden, then stepped back into the dining-room and closed the panel tight behind him, remarking with delight that it had no spring-lock, and could be opened from the hallway. He came back quickly to the table, put down the candle, took his seat, stroked his chin with his hook, and chuckled. When Morris came back, he was holding his wine with one hand while he hummed a snatch of song and drummed lightly on the table with the hook. Immediately after came a servant with a tray, and th

le, as he made his adieus to Gering, said in a low voice: "The s

d Gering, and they bowe

and, thinking it was some game of which they sp

cy," quoth Gering-"a ga

e, under his breath;

game of wits, then, after all. Upon my soul,

," said Iberville dryly

owards a craft carrying Nell Gwynn beneath the curious, antique figureh

them, my Radisson, but for you and me, and for a greater than Colonel Richard Nicholls. Ho, ho! I know him-the man who shall lead the hunt and find the

the touch of a royal sword-and the king shall say: 'Rise, Sir William'-No, it is not time for the name; but it is not Richard Nicholls, it is not Hogarth Leveret.

lip. At last: "Bien," he said, "you are merry. So-I shall be merry to

n," the pirate asked;

l," was the reply,

od of my soul, I have waited

e," rejoined the Fre

r that I was to hang. I was the only one they cooked so; the rest were to hang raw. I did not hang; I broke prison and ran. For years I was a slave among the Spaniards. Years more-in all, twelve-and then I came back with the little chart for one thing, this to do for another. Who was it gave me that rogues' march from the stocks to the gallows's foot? It was Hogarth Leveret, who deals out law in Massachusetts in the king's name, by the grace of God. It was my whim to capture him and take him on a journey-such a journey as he would go but once. Blood of my soul, the dear lad was gone. But there was his child. See this: when I stood in the pillory a maid one day brough