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ship. Their feet clattered on the cobbles and they swung along at a rolling gait. Some were sober and some were drunk; and some were merry and some were sad. Some eyed one another with the curiosity that a man feels if he must sit, for months to come, at cheek and jowl with strangers; and some bent their eyes on the ground as if ill at ease and uncertain of their own discretion in thus committing themselves to no one knew what adventures in distant seas and lands.

Thus they came to the ship, following at the master’s heels, and thus they filed on board, while Captain Candle stood at one side and looked them over as they passed.

To a young fellow leaning over the waist one of the men called, ‘‘Well met, Will Canty!”

Looking up, Phil himself then caught the eye of a lad of his own years who was returning the hail of a former shipmate, and since each of the youths found something to his taste in the appearance of the other, on the deck of the ship they joined company.

“You come late,” said the one who had answered to the name of Will Canty. ‘‘Unless I am much mistaken, you were not on board yesterday.”

He was tall and slender and very straight, and he carried his head with an erectness that seemed at first glance to savour of vanity. His face, too, was of a sober cast and his expression restrained. Yet he seemed a likable fellow, withal, and one whom a man could trust.

“I have not until now set foot on this deck,” Phil replied. “But having seen many vessels in my time, I venture that the Rose of Devon is a staunch ship, as Captain Candle, it is plain to see, is a proper master.”