crouching down in the corner holding on to young Jerk with a warning hand, the bo'sun with his whistle hidden in the garden, and the firelight aided by one candle upon the table throwing the two wavering shadows of the pseudo parson upon the whitewashed wall. Jerk could hardly persuade himself that it was not the Doctor, so clever was the rig-out of Morgan Walters, and he could hardly forbear letting out a laugh as the crafty seaman kept turning the pages of the book. But he had ample time to control himself before anything happened; indeed, a whole hour he had to wait—an hour which seemed a lifetime; and then the occurrence was swift and terrible.
A shrill whistle sounded from the garden; down went Morgan Walters's head; and with a thud which broke the surrounding wall plaster into a thousand powdery cracks, a great harpoon trembled in the wall, exactly one foot above the settle.
"Gone!" shouted the bo'sun from the garden, and he immediately tumbled up through the window, closing the shutters behind him.
"Well, sir," said Morgan Walters, "it wasn't the ducking I minded when it came to it, but the waiting wasn't pleasant."
"You did well, my man," said the captain. "And now, potboy, after that little experiment I'll know how to proceed, how to prescribe like an analyzing apothecary, so, as it's Sunday to-morrow, which ain't far off
