that you ought, and I wouldn’t sail in the same boat with you.”

“No, it wouldn’t be safe,” said Zekle dryly.

“Yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said someone else angrily. “I don’t like Harry Paul, for he’s a regular coward—chap as hasn’t had courage to take the big dive as yet; but that’s no reason he should be drowned by a fellow who can’t manage a drift-net no better than to leave half on it trailing overboard.”

“Well, if you come to that,” said Tom Genna, who was an authority in the place, “I think it was the skipper’s dooty to ha’ seen that his nets was all in the boat, and not leave it to a fellow like Zekle Wynn here, who don’t seem to have so much brains as a boy.”

“Quite right!” said Zekle, “quite right!”

“Yes: what I say’s quite right,” said Tom Genna; “but as for you, young fellow, you’re quite wrong, and it’s my belief you’re about half out of your mind.”

Zekle Wynn stared vacantly round at the speakers, and then, putting his hand to his head, he walked thoughtfully away.

“He is going wrong,” said the fishing sage, nodding his head; and this formed a fresh subject for discussion, especially as one of the knot of idlers recollected that a second cousin of Zekle Wynn’s was an idiot.

But Zekle Wynn was not going out of his mind, but, as soon as it was dark, straight up to the house where Mark Penelly lived with his father, and as soon as he had watched Penelly, senior, out of the house, he went boldly up and asked to see Mark.

The latter came at the end of a few minutes, looking curiously at his visitor.

“Sit down, Zekle,” he said. “Brought a message?”

“No!” said Zekle.

“Brought up some fish, then?”

“No!” was the very gruff reply.

“Did you want to see my father?”

“No!”

“Then what do you want?” exclaimed Penelly sharply.

“You!”

“What is it, then, my good fellow?” said Penelly, speaking now in a haughty tone, for the man’s way was rude and offensive.

“I want to know something,” said Zekle.

“Then why don’t you go to somebody else?”

“’Cause you know best what I want to know.”

“Speak out, then, quickly, for I am busy,” said Penelly, who, while in an ordinary way ready enough to chat and laugh with the fishermen, was at times, on the strength of his father’s position as a boat-owner, disposed to treat them as several degrees lower in social standing.

“Busy, eh?” said Zekle scornfully. “I dessay you are; but you mus’n’t be too busy to talk to me.”

“What do you mean?” said Penelly hotly. “How dare you speak to me in that insolent way?”

“Insolent, eh?” said the man. “Ah! you call that insolent, do you?” he continued, raising his voice. “What would you call it, then, if I was to speak out a little plainer?”

“Look here, Zekle Wynn,” said Penelly; “there are times when I come down to the harbour, and into the boats, and go fishing with the men; but recollect, please, whom you are talking to.”

“Oh, I know who I’m talking to,” said Zekle; “I ain’t blind.”

“If you speak to me again like that I’ll kick you out of the house. How dare you come in here and address me in this way?”

“Where’s your father?” said Zekle; “suppose I talk to him.”

“Go and talk to him, then; and mind how you speak, sir, or you’ll get different treatment to that you receive from me.”

“All right, then!” said Zekle mockingly. “I shall go to him and tell him that, while I was busy shaking out fish in our boat to-night, young Harry Paul come swimming up, and our mas’r says, ‘Come aboard,’ he says; but Mas’r Harry Paul he says, ‘No,’ he says, ‘I shall swim round,’ he says, and he swims round our boat.”

“Well, he knows that,” said Penelly, looking at him strangely.

“And then I’m going to tell him,” continued Zekle, “that as soon as ever a certain person who was aboard our boat sees young Mas’r Harry coming, he goes and sits on the other side.”

“Yes, I did,” said Penelly sharply.

“Oh, you did, did you? You owns to that?”

“Of course,” replied Penelly scornfully. “What then?”

“What then? Ah! I’ll soon tell you what then,” said Zekle. “You ups with an armful of net, and just as young Harry Paul comes round under you, you drops it on top of his head.”

“Hush!”

Mark Penelly sprang at the speaker and clapped his hand over his lips.

“I thought,” said Zekle, freeing himself, “that it was only for a bit of mischief; I’d forgot all about young Mas’r Harry; but now I know as you did it to drown—”

“Hush!” cried Penelly again hoarsely, and his face was like ashes. “I didn’t; indeed I did not, Zekle.”

“Why, I see you with my own eyes,” said the man.

“Yes, I did drop the net over, but it was only out of mischief. I did not think it would do more than duck him well. I never thought it would be so dangerous. I meant it in fun.”

“But it was dangerous,” said Zekle with a grin; “and as people know you hate Mas’r Harry, they’ll say you meant to mur—”

“Hush!” cried Penelly again; and he clapped his hand once more upon the speaker’s lips.

“Oh, that won’t stop me from speaking!” said Zekle. “I’m going to tell all I know, and it’s my belief as they’ll have you up, and bring it in ’tempt to kill young Mas’r Harry.”

“But you won’t speak about it, Zekle,” said Penelly imploringly.

“But I just will,” said Zekle, “and I come to ask you what they’ll do to you for it. I don’t want to tell, but you see it’s ’bout my dooty.”

“I’ll give you anything to be silent.”

“But I must tell,” said Zekle, shaking his head; “it’s my dooty to, and I wouldn’t hold my tongue not for twenty pounds.”

Penelly gave a gasp, and in those few moments of thought he saw all the consequences of his escapade—the disgrace and shame—perhaps prosecution for an attempt at murder, for a magistrate might refuse to listen to his plea that it was only in fun.

But there was a gleam of hope. Zekle had mentioned money. He would not hold his tongue for twenty pounds he said. Perhaps he would. Penelly had not twenty pounds, nor yet five; but perhaps he could get it. Turning to Zekle then he said:

“If I give you ten pounds, Zekle, will you swear that you will never say a word?”

“No,” said Zekle stoutly, “nor yet for twenty; and now I’m going to tell all I know.”

As he spoke he turned towards the door, and Mark Penelly made a clutch at the nearest chair.