CHAPTER X.
I GO ON A HONEYMOON.
"Sure-ly I know that voice ?" said Mr.Jope.
He drew out the knife reflectively.

It relieved me to see that no blood dyed the blade.
"Oh, Mr.Jope, I was afraid you'd stabbed him!" "'Tisn't a him, 'tis a her.

I touched somebody up, and that's the truth." "Ahoy there!" said a voice immediately overhead; and we looked up.
A round-faced man was gazing down on us from the tilted bulwarks.
"You might ha' given us notice," he grumbled.
"I knew 'twas soft, but not so soft as all that," Mr.Jope explained.
"Got such a thing as a scrap o' chalk about ye ?" "No." The round-faced man felt in his pocket and tossed down a piece.
"Mark a bit of a line round the place, will ye?
I'll give it a lick of paint afore the tide rises.

It's only right the owner should have it pointed out to him." "Belong to these parts ?" asked Mr.Jope affably, having drawn the required circle.

"I don't seem to remember your face." "No ?" The man seemed to think this out at leisure.