The boy's eyes grew round. "Do--the--ships--talk?"

"Why, of course they do! For my part, I wonder what Billy teaches you."


Late that evening, when the household supposed him to be in bed, the boy
crept down through the moonlit garden to the dinghy which Billy had left
on its frape under the cliff. But for their riding-lights, the vessels
at the buoy lay asleep. The crews of the foreigners had turned in; the
_Nubian_, of Runcorn, had no soul on board but a night-watchman, now
soundly dozing in the forecastle; and the _Touch-me-not_ was deserted.
The _Touch-me-not_ belonged to the port, and her skipper, Captain
Tangye, looked after her in harbour when he had paid off all hands.
Usually he slept on board; but to-night, after trimming his lamp, he had
rowed ashore to spend Christmas with his family--for which, since he
owned a majority of the shares, no one was likely to blame him. He had
even left the accommodation-ladder hanging over her side, to be handy
for boarding her in the morning.

All this the boy had noted; and accordingly, having pushed across in the
dinghy, he climbed the _Touch-me-not's_ ladder and dropped upon deck
with a bundle of rugs and his father's greatcoat under his arm.

He looked about him and listened. There was no sound at all but the lap
of tide between the ships, and the voice of a preacher travelling over
the water from a shed far down the harbour, where the Salvation Army was
holding a midnight service. Captain Tangye had snugged down his ship
for the night: ropes were coiled, deckhouses padlocked, the spokes of
the wheel covered against dew and frost. The boy found the slack of a