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— ” and he first put his eyes close to the notes on each remaining packet, then held them far off, for his sight, although good at a great distance, made out with difficulty things near at hand, ‘‘this is from a barrel that hath lost its strength by moisture; and this hath a fault I shall tell you of.”

Taking a pinch of each, as he spoke, he had laid the corns, each some three fingers distant from the next, in a circle on the paper. He then struck tinder, and lighting a match made of twisted cords of tow boiled in strong lye-ashes and saltpetre, he held it over a corn of the good powder. There was a flash and puff, and the ring of powder was gone. The corns of good powder had fired speedily and left only a chalky whiteness in their place, nor had they burned the paper or given off smoke; but the corns of poor powder had burned slowly, and some had scorched the paper and some had given forth smoke.

The Old One softly swore. ‘‘And have we, then,” asked he, ‘‘but three barrels of good powder?”

“Nay, there are more than three. This last is weak because they have neglected to turn the barrels upside down, so the petre has settled from top to bottom, as is its way. We shall find the bottom as strong as the top is weak, and by turning the barrel we shall renew its strength evenly.”

“As for the powder that hath spoiled by long lying,” cried Philip Marsham, ‘‘I will undertake to make it as good as new.”

“Do you, boatswain, mind your sails and cordage,” said old Jacob, with a wry smile. “An you wish to grind it in the mortar, that you may; but it is I who will measure the petre. Nay, I will make you, if you