He took hold of the shrouds, swung himself on to the bulwarks, and began to mount the ratlines as calmly as if it were a broad staircase, though the vessel was careening over, and rising and falling on the swell.

“Now, my lad, up with you,” said the captain. “Stop there, and hand him the pieces as he wants them.”

The boy’s face wrinkled up, and he looked down at his bundle of many-lengthed laths, then up at the top-mast, and then at the captain.

“Well, did you hear what I said, sir?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why don’t you run up?”

“The wind blaws, sir, and I dinna thenk I can haud on.”

“What? Why, you contemptible, lubberly young rascal, what do you mean? You come to sea, and afraid to go aloft!”

“Na, I winna say I’m afraid to gang aloft, sir; but my heid’s a’ of a wark when I get up, and I might fa’ and hurt somebody.”

Captain, mate, the doctor, and Steve burst into a roar of laughter at this; and feeling that he must have said something unusually clever the boy looked smiling round, letting his eyes rest at last upon Steve.

“Here, this won’t do!” cried Mr Lowe. “Now, boy, no nonsense; up with you!”

“Na,” said the boy sturdily, and he shook his shock head. “My mither said I wasna to rin into danger, and I didna come to sea to fa’ overboard, or come doon upon the deck wi’ a roon.”

“Now, boy, come along!” cried the sailor, who was high up above the top.

“Do you hear, sir! Up with you, or you’ll get the rope’s end!” cried the mate angrily.

“Don’t send him,” said the captain in an undertone. “The young cur may fall.”

“I’ll take them!” cried Steve; and stepping forward, he leaped up into the shrouds and held down his hand for the bundle.

The captain gave his head a nod.

“Up with you then, my lad. Shall I send a man to lash you to the rigging?”

“Yes, sir, when I ask,” cried Steve: and taking the bundle of pieces of wood under his arm he began to mount steadily.

“Pass the word for the cook,” cried the mate angrily; and as Steve reached the top he paused to rest a moment, and looked down to see that the cook had come out of the galley and presented himself before his officers.

“Here!” cried the mate, “take this boy, cook, and set him to peel potatoes and scour your pots. He’ll never make a sailor.”

“Na,” whimpered the lad, “I didna come to sea to peel potatoes. My mither said—”

Steve did not hear what Watty’s “mither” had said, for the cook made a rush at him, caught him by the scruff of the neck, and ran him into the galley, closely followed by Skene-dhu, the dog, snapping and barking at their heels in a way which hastened Watty’s pace and stopped all resistance.

Half laughing, half pitying the boy, but with a blending of contempt, Steve resumed his climb, till, looking up, he found the Norwegian sailor just above him.

“So you’ve come, eh, my lad?” he said in perfect English.

“Yes, I’ve come.”

“Don’t you feel scared?”

“No, not yet. I say, what’s your name?”

“Johannes, sir. Well, are you going to help me?”

“Yes, if you show me what to do.”

“Hand me the rails, my lad, one by one, shortest first, while I lash them across from side to side.”

“But what for?”

“What for, my lad? So that we can get into the crow’s-nest when she’s hauled right up and made fast yonder.”

“But why won’t the ratlines do?”

“Because they wouldn’t be handy, my lad. There, you’ll soon see. Get the shortest one ready,” he continued, as he opened his big Norwegian knife by pressing on a spring at the side, and holding it upside down, when the long keen blade which lay in the handle dropped out to its full length, and the removal of the thumb from the spring fixed it in its place.

Then the man climbed a little higher up the shrouds, so that he could reach to where they came to an end on the main topgallant mast, about one-fourth of its length below the truck and halyards, thrust one leg through between the ratlines, so as to twist it round and get a good hold, leaving his hands free; and Steve at once followed his example, and then loosened the shortest lath-like piece of wood. This done, and the piece held ready, he had time to look about him, while the sailor untwisted some of his stout tarred twine and cut it into short lengths ready for use.

Steve’s first look was, naturally enough, down at the deck, which now seemed to be at a terrible depth below him, looking quite a hundred feet, though it was not more than seventy, and the first thought which struck him was: “Suppose I fell!” A thrill ran through him, and in imagination he saw himself lying, broken and bleeding, on the white deck. But the next instant he said to himself: “No; I shouldn’t reach the deck, I should go overboard into the sea. How deep down should I go?” and then he clung there staring below him, till he was roused from the peculiar kind of fascination by the sailor’s voice.

“Now, master,” he said; and Steve gave a kind of gasp as he turned to the speaker. “Shortest piece.”

Steve handed it, and the Norseman tried its length, which proved to be just sufficient to reach across from the starboard shrouds, to which he clung, to those on the port side.

“Just right,” he said, and resting each end of the stout lath-like piece on the ratlines, he proceeded to bind the starboard end fast to the outer shroud.

This was quickly done by a few deft turns of the strong twine, and then the sailor descended a little.

“Next size!” he cried, and another piece was passed up, this being a trifle longer.

It proved to fit exactly, showing how accurately the bundle of pieces had been prepared for the object in view.

“Next!” cried the man, and the piece was handed, placed in position on the opposite ratlines, and secured in turn.

“See what these are for?” said the Norseman, smiling.

“Yes; you are making a ladder, so as to get from side to side,” replied Steve; “but you can’t make it very far down, it would take tremendously long pieces when we get lower.”

“Only want ten or a dozen, my lad. You see what they’re for now, don’t you?”

“N–no.”

“To step on to from the ratlines, and go up into the crow’s-nest.”

“What, that tub?”

“Yes; we haul her up and lash her just above us, close to the truck there, above the top piece of wood.”

“I see now!” cried Steve; and, full of interest in the task, he handed the pieces till the last had been secured, when the Norseman ascended to the highest, took tight hold of the mast, and crossed over on to the port-side shrouds, where he began to make fast the other ends of the pieces of wood.

“How are you getting on up there, Steve?” cried the captain from the deck.

“All right, sir. Done one side.”

“Good! Feel giddy?”

“Oh no, sir.”

“Shall I send the boy to relieve you?”

Steve replied in the negative, and the captain went aft again.

“Ever been up here before, sir?” said the man, as he rapidly went on with his task.

“No, never.”

“Oh!” ejaculated the Norseman, and he looked across at his companion inquiringly, but with his busy fingers working away till the last piece had been securely bound at the port side and a short wooden ladder extended from side to side.

“Now, what’s next?” asked Steve.

“Get up the crow’s-nest. It’ll want two of us for that.”

“Well, I’ll help,” said Steve.

“Ay, sir, and I’d like your help; but it’ll want one of my mates, with his strong arms, to hold her securely while she’s made fast.”

He hailed the deck, and a man came up with a small rope, which Johannes took, climbed up a little higher and passed the end