lliously.

"It might be in five minutes' time, and it might be in a month," said
the old man firmly, "but it'll come back."

He took the portrait from the hands of the now sulky cook and strove to
jog his memory with it.

"John Dunn's his name," he cried suddenly. "John Dunn."

"Where does 'e live?" inquired the cook eagerly.

"Holebourne," said the old man--"a little place seven miles off the
road."

"Are you sure it's the same," asked the cook in a trembling voice.

"Sartain," said the other firmly. "He come here first about six years
ago, an' then he quarrelled with his landlord and went off to
Holebourne."

The cook, with a flushed face, glanced along the quay to the schooner.
Work was still proceeding amid a cloud of white dust, and so far his
absence appeared to have passed unnoticed.

"If they want any dinner," he muttered, alluding to the powdered figures
at work on the schooner, "they must get it for theirselves, that's all.
Will you come and 'ave a drop, old man?"

The old man, nothing loath, assented, and having tasted of the cook's
bounty, crawled beside him through the little town to put him on the
road to Holebourne, and after seeing him safe, returned to his beloved
post.

The cook went along whistling, thinking pleasantly of the discomfiture
of the other members of the crew when they should discover his luck. For
three miles he kept on sturdily, until a small signboard, projecting
from between a couple of tall elms, attracted his attention to a little
inn just off the road, at the porch of which a stout landlord sat on a
wooden stool waiting for custom.

The cook hesitated a moment, and then marching slowly up, took a stool
which stood opposite and ordered a pint.

The landlord rose and in a heavy, leisurely fashion, entered the house
to execute the order, and returned carefully bearing a foaming mug.

"Take the top off," said the cook courteously.

The stout man, with a nod towards him, complied.

"'Ave a pint with me," said the cook, after a hasty glance into the
interior, as the landlord handed