CHAPTER VII.
THE CAPTIVE.
"Franci!" the Skipper called up the companion-way, when his visitor had taken his departure.
"Senor!" said Franci, putting his beautiful head over the rail.
"Bring me here the child, hear thou!" "Si, Senor," said Franci.

He went forward, and pulling aside a pile of canvas that lay carelessly heaped together in a corner of the deck, disclosed the boy John, curled up in a ball, with one monkey in his arms, and the other sitting on his shoulder.
"Here, you, Sir Schoolmaster, the Patron ask for you.

I give you my hand to hellup you up! I like to put a knife in you!" he added in Spanish, with an adorable smile.
"You'd get one into yourself before you had time!" said Rento, getting up from the spot where his length had been coiled, and speaking with a slow drawl that lent emphasis to the words.

"You ever lay a hand on that boy, and it's the last you lay on anybody,--understand that ?" "Oh, yays!" said Franci, gently, as he pulled John out of the tangle of canvas and ropes.

"But I am 'most killed all my life with looking at your ugly face, you old she monkey! A little more killing make not much difference to me." Rento advanced toward him with uplifted hand, and the agile Spaniard slipped round the mast and disappeared.
"What was he saying ?" asked John, vaguely feeling that something was wrong.
"Nothin', nothin' at all," Rento said, quietly.