the enterprise fails—remarkably.

the lads had to pass the “blue boar” on their way to widow mooney’s hut, and they went in just to see, as bob said, how the land lay, and whether there was a prospect of help in that quarter if they should require it.

besides a number of strangers, they found in that den of iniquity joe stubley, ned bryce, and groggy fox—which last had, alas! forgotten his late determination to “leave the poor old stranded wreck and pull for the shore.” he and his comrades were still out among the breakers, clinging fondly to the old wreck.

the boys saw at a glance that no assistance was to be expected from these men. stubley was violently argumentative, fox was maudlinly sentimental, and bryce was in an exalted state of heroic resolve. each sought to gain the attention and sympathy of the other, and all completely failed, but they succeeded in making a tremendous noise, which seemed partially to satisfy them as they drank deeper.

“come, nothin’ to be got here,” whispered bob lumsden, in a tone of disgust, as he caught hold of his friend’s arm. “we’ll trust to ourselves—”

“an’ the thumpin’ sticks,” whispered pat, as they reached the end of the road.

alas for the success of their enterprise if it had depended on those formidable weapons of war!

when the hut was reached the night had become so nearly dark that they ventured to approach it with the intention of peeping in at the front window, but their steps were suddenly arrested by the sight of a man’s figure approaching from the opposite direction. they drew back, and, being in the shadow of a wall, escaped observation. the man advanced noiselessly, and with evident caution, until he reached the window, and peeped in.

“it’s dick,” whispered bob. “can’t see his figure-head, but i know the cut of his jib, even in the dark.”

“let’s go at ’im, slick!” whispered pat, grasping his cudgel and looking fierce.

“not yet. we must make quite sure, an’ nab him in the very act.”

as he spoke the man went with stealthy tread to the door of the hut, which the drunken owner had left on the latch. opening it softly, he went in, shut it after him, and, to the dismay of the boys, locked it on the inside.

“now, pat,” said bob, somewhat bitterly, “there’s nothin’ for it but the police.”

pat expressed strong dissent. “the p’leece,” he said, “was useless for real work; they was on’y fit to badger boys an’ old women.”

“but what can we do?” demanded bob anxiously, for he felt that time was precious. “you an’ i ain’t fit to bu’st in the door; an’ if we was dick would be ready for us. if we’re to floor him he must be took by surprise.”

“let’s go an’ peep,” suggested the smaller warrior.

“come on, then,” growled the big one.

the sight that met their eyes when they peeped was indeed one fitted to expand these orbs of vision to the uttermost, for they beheld the thief on his knees beside the invalid’s bed, holding her thin hand in his, while his head was bowed upon the ragged counterpane.

bob lumsden was speechless.

“hold me; i’m a-goin’ to bu’st,” whispered pat, by way of expressing the depth of his astonishment.

presently eve spoke. they could hear her faintly, yet distinctly, through the cracked and patched windows, and listened with all their ears.

“don’t take on so, poor man,” she said in her soft loving tones. “oh, i am so glad to hear what you say!”

dick martin looked up quickly.

“what!” he exclaimed, “glad to hear me say that i am the thief as stole your mother’s money! that i’m a low, vile, selfish blackguard who deserves to be kicked out o’ the north sea fleet—off the face o’ the ’arth altogether?”

“yes,” returned eve, smiling through her tears—for she had been crying—“glad to hear you say all that, because jesus came to save people like you; but he does not call them such bad names. he only calls them the ‘lost.’”

“well, i suppose you’re right, dear child,” said the man, after a pause; “an’ i do think the blessed lord has saved me, for i never before felt as i do now—hatred of my old bad ways, and an awful desire to do right for his sake. if any o’ my mates had told me i’d feel an’ act like this a week ago, i’d have called him a fool. i can’t understand it. i suppose that god must have changed me altogether. my only fear is that i’ll fall back again into the old bad ways—i’m so helpless for anything good, d’ee see.”

“you forget,” returned eve, with another of her tearful smiles; “he says, ‘i will never leave thee nor forsake thee’—”

“no, i don’t forget that,” interrupted dick quickly; “that is what the young preacher in the mission smack said, an’ it has stuck to me. it’s that as keeps me up. but i didn’t come here to speak about my thoughts an’ feelin’s,” he continued, rising and taking a chair close to the bed, on which he placed a heavy bag. “i come here, eve, to make restitootion. there’s every farthin’ i stole from your poor mother. i kep’ it intendin’ to go to lun’on, and have a good long spree—so it’s all there. you’ll give it to her, but don’t tell her who stole it. that’s a matter ’tween you an’ me an’ the almighty. just you say that the miserable sinner who took it has bin saved by jesus christ, an’ now returns it and axes her pardon.”

eve gladly promised, but while she was yet speaking, heavy footsteps were heard approaching the hut. the man started up as if to leave, and the two boys, suddenly awakening to the fact that they were eavesdropping, fled silently round the corner of the hut and hid themselves. the passer-by, whoever he was, seemed to change his mind, for the steps ceased to sound for a few moments, then they were heard again, with diminishing force, until they finally died away.

a moment later, and the key was heard to turn, and the door of the hut to open and close, after which the heavy tread of the repentant fisherman was heard as he walked quickly away.

the boys listened in silence till all was perfectly still.

“well, now,” said bob, drawing a long breath, “who’d have thought that things would have turned out like this?”

“never heard of sich a case in my life before,” responded pat stiver with emphasis, as if he were a venerable magistrate who had been trying “cases” for the greater part of a long life. “why, it leaves us nothin’ wotiver to do! even a p’leeceman might manage it! the thief has gone an’ took up hisself, tried an’ condemned hisself without a jury, pronounced sentance on hisself without a judge, an’ all but hanged hisself without jack ketch, so there’s nothin’ for you an’ me to do but go an’ bury our thumpin’ sticks, as red injins bury the war-hatchet, retire to our wigwams, an’ smoke the pipe of peace.”

“wery good; let’s go an’ do it, then,” returned bob, curtly.

as it is not a matter of particular interest how the boys reduced this figurative intention to practice, we will leave them, and follow dick martin for a few minutes.

his way led him past the “blue boar,” which at that moment, however, proved to be no temptation to him. he paused to listen. sounds of revelry issued from its door, and the voice of joe stubley was heard singing with tremendous energy—“britons, never, never, never, shall be slaves,” although he and all his companions were at that very moment thoroughly—in one or two cases almost hopelessly—enslaved to the most terrible tyrant that has ever crushed the human race!

dick went on, and did not pause till he reached his sister’s house. by that time the family party had broken up, but a solitary candle in the attic window showed that old granny martin was still on her watch-tower.

“is that you, dick?” said his sister, opening to his tap, and letting him in; but there was nothing of welcome or pleasure in the widow’s tone.

the fisherman did not expect a warm welcome. he knew that he did not deserve it, but he cared not, for the visit was to his mother. gliding to her side, he went down on his knees, and laid his rugged head on her lap. granny did not seem taken by surprise. she laid her withered hand on the head, and said: “bless you, my boy! i knew you would come, sooner or later; praise be to his blessed name.”

we will not detail what passed between the mother and son on that occasion, but the concluding sentence of the old woman was significant: “he can’t be long of coming now, dick, for the promises are all fulfilled at last, and i’m ready.”

she turned her head slowly again in the old direction, where, across the river and the sands, she could watch the moonbeams glittering on the solemn sea.

three days later, and the skipper of the sunbeam received a telegram telling him to prepare for guests, two of whom were to accompany him on his trip to the fleet.

it was a bright, warm day when the guests arrived—a dozen or more ladies and gentlemen who sympathised with the mission, accompanied by the director.

“all ready for sea, martin, i suppose?” said the latter, as the party stepped on board from the wharf alongside of which the vessel lay.

“all ready, sir,” responded fred. “if the wind holds we may be with the fleet, god willing, some time to-morrow night.”

the sunbeam was indeed all ready, for the duties on board of her had been performed by those who did their work “as to the lord, and not to men.” every rope was in its place and properly coiled away, every piece of brass-work about the vessel shone like burnished gold. the deck had been scrubbed to a state of perfect cleanliness, so that, as jim freeman said, “you might eat your victuals off it.” in short, everything was trim and taut, and the great blue mdsf flag floated from the masthead, intimating that the gospel ship was about to set forth on her mission of mercy, to fish for men.

among the party who were conducted by fred and the director over the vessel were two clergymen, men of middle age, who had been labouring among all classes on the land: sympathising with the sad, rejoicing with the glad, praying, working, and energising for rich and poor, until health had begun to give way, and change of air and scene had become absolutely necessary. a week or so at the sea, it was thought, would revive them.

and what change of air could be more thorough than that from the smoke of the city to the billows of the north sea? the director had suggested the change. men of god were sorely wanted out there, he said, and, while they renewed their health among the fresh breezes of ocean, they might do grand service for the master among the long-neglected fishermen.

the reasoning seemed just. the offer was kind. the opportunity was good, as well as unique and interesting. the land-worn clergymen accepted the invitation, and were now on their way to the scene of their health-giving work, armed with waterproofs, sou’westers, and sea-boots.

“it will do you good, sir, both body and soul,” said skipper martin to the elder of the two, when presented to him. “you’ll find us a strange lot, sir, out there, but glad to see you, and game to listen to what you’ve got to say as long as ever you please.”

when the visitors had seen all that was to be seen, enjoyed a cup of coffee, prayed and sung with the crew, and wished them god-speed, they went on shore, and the sunbeam, hoisting her sails and shaking out the blue flag, dropped quietly down the river.

other smacks there were, very much like herself, coming and going, or moored to the wharves, but as the visitors stood on the river bank and waved their adieux, the thought was forced upon them how inconceivably vast was the difference between those vessels which laboured for time and this one which toiled for eternity.

soon the sunbeam swept out upon the sea, bent over to the freshening breeze, and steered on her beneficent course towards her double fishing-ground.