to the clerk's office. There, after some little discussion, the ticket was purchased, and the two retired to a more secluded spot for conversation.

"What's your name?" the boy asked of Tim. "Mine's Bobby Tucker."

Tim gave the desired information, and then asked in turn, "How long have you been up here?"

"'Most a whole week, an' I've had lots of fun. I had five dollars an' twenty cents that I earned all myself, an' I've got 'most half a dollar left. Let's go out on the wharf an' buy something."

There was no chance that Tim would object to any such brilliant idea, and the valise was left with old Mose for safe-keeping. Once on the wharf, both they and the apple women were very busy for five minutes, during which time they—or rather Bobby—bought fruit and candies enough to make both of them as contented as a boy could hope to be.

Luckily for Tim he got on the steamer again just as one of the waiters came to tell him that the Captain had rung for him, and he lost no time in making his way to the wheel-house. He had the good fortune to get there as quickly as Captain Pratt thought he ought to have done, and then got his employer's coat from his state-room as he was ordered.

After that he went back to his newly made friend, who was awaiting his return with considerable impatience, for he did not feel exactly certain that his valise with its precious contents was perfectly safe.

Tim took him to the cook-room, and while there showed him "one of the finest dogs in the country," which he led back to his old quarters, so that he would be out of the way at dinner-time.

At first Bobby was not inclined to look upon Tip either as a beautiful or a valuable animal; but Tim sounded his pet's praises so loudly that Bobby could hardly prevent himself from being convinced, even though the appearances were so decidedly against his companion's words.

Among other stories which Tim related as showing that Tip was one of the most intelligent of his species was the incident of his finding the cow so suddenly for Sam Simpson, which pleased Bobby greatly, and he said, in a wise tone both of praise and blame,

"He looks like a good dog, an' he acts like a good dog, but 'pears to me his legs is kinder short if you wanted to make him run after a bear."

"I never tried to make him do that, 'cause we don't have bears up where I come from. Are there any where you live?"

"Well, I never saw any, an' father says there ain't any; but I've heard 'em in the woods, an' I know they was bears 'cause they made such an awful noise. You come down to the island and see me, an' bring the dog with you, an' we'll kill some."

Tim was perfectly sure that Tip was able to kill any number of bears, and he told his companion so, adding that he hardly thought he could get away from the steamer long enough to make any kind of a visit; but Bobby felt sure it could be arranged somehow.

While they had been talking about Tip, the boat had started, but, among the freight as they were, they did not know it until the pitching of the steamer as she left the harbor told that some change had been and was being made in their position.

Running hastily out to the rail, where they expected to see the wharf with its bustling crowd of hucksters and passengers, they saw to their astonishment the green rolling billows of the ocean. To Bobby, who lived on an island, the sea was no new sight, and his astonishment was only occasioned by the fact that the steamer had left the dock; but to Tim, who had never seen a body of water larger than the river in Selman, the scene was one that filled him with the greatest wonder.

He remained by the rail, only able to look over the top of it by standing on his toes, gazing on the sea, until Bobby asked, impatiently, "What's the matter? ain't sick, are yer?"

Until that question was asked, Tim had not thought of such a thing as being seasick; but the moment Bobby spoke, it seemed as if the entire appearance of the water changed. Instead of looking grand and beautiful, it began to have a sidelong motion, and to rise up and down in an uncomfortable way.

"No, I ain't sick," he said to Bobby, "but I feel kinder queer."

"That's it! that's it!" cried Bobby, eagerly; "that's the way folks begin when they're goin' to be awful sick."

Tim looked up in despair. Each succeeding motion of the boat made him feel worse, and that was speedily giving place to a very uncomfortable sensation in the region of his stomach.

"What shall I do?" he asked, in a piteous whisper.

"Go to bed, an' you'll be all right in the mornin'. Where's your berth?"

Tim made a motion toward the forecastle, but did not trust himself to speak. His stomach was already in too queer a condition to permit of words.

"I'll go down with you, an' see that you're all right," said Bobby, sagely. "I'm used to goin' fishin' with father, and I won't be sick."

Tim was about to follow his friend's suggestion, when the horrible thought occurred to him of what the result might be in case Captain Pratt knew of his being in bed in the daytime, and he went to ask advice of old Mose.

The old cook's advice was the same as that given by Bobby, and was followed at once, because it came from a semi-official source, and in a few moments afterward Tim was groaning in his berth, while Bobby sat by his side, and tried to persuade him to partake of some of the candy he had bought just before leaving port.

Tim refused the offering, and for the first time in his life looked upon candy as the stickiest kind of a fraud. He felt as though the kindest thing any one could do would be to throw him overboard in the midst of that treacherous sea which was causing him so much internal commotion.

He had been in his berth about an hour, although it seemed to him fully a week, when Mr. Rankin came into the forecastle, and told him that Captain Pratt had given positive and angrily issued orders that he be brought on deck.

A moment before, Tim would have thought it impossible for him to move, and felt that he would not be frightened by a dozen Captain Pratts; but the instant Mr. Rankin spoke, the thoughts of that whipping, the smart of which could still be felt, was sufficient to give him strength to make the attempt.

Staggering to his feet, encouraged by the kind-hearted steward, who pitied him sincerely, he crawled up the narrow companionway, shuddering as he went, and catching his breath in sickness and fear at each lurch of the steamer.

Bobby, who was awed into silence by the fear of the Captain which he saw plainly written on the faces of Mr. Rankin and Tim, would have gone with his friend at least a portion of the way if Tim had not motioned him back. If he was to be whipped for being sick, he very much preferred that his new friend should not witness the punishment. It was with the greatest difficulty he managed to keep on his feet as he staggered along the deck to the wheel-house, and just as he reached there, and had opened the door, a sudden lurch of the steamer sent him spinning into the room headlong.

It was unfortunate that Captain Pratt was sitting directly opposite the door, smoking, for he was directly in the way of Tim when the steamer shot him into the wheel-house like a stone from a sling, and the boy's head struck with no gentle force full on the chest of his irritable employer.

The mildest-mannered man would have been provoked if a boy even no larger than Tim had been thrown at him in this way, and Captain Pratt, always ill-tempered, had all his ire aroused by the blow that very nearly took away his breath.

As soon as he recovered from the effects of the blow, he seized Tim, who had continued on his flight until he landed, a forlorn little specimen, in one corner of the room, and shook him as a cat shakes a mouse after she has had a long chase to catch him.

"Is this the way you try to get even with me?" cried the angry man, slapping Tim first