at the head of the grave, gloomily regarding the something wrapped in white.

“That’s gospel truth,” assented the other, with a prodigious sigh. “He was a man what was a man. He never stuck at nothing. Don or priest, man or woman, good red gold or dirty silver, — it was all one to him. But he’s dead and gone!”

“Now, if we had a captain like Kirby,” suggested the first.

“Kirby keeps to the Summer Isles,” said the second. “‘T is n’t often now that he swoops down as far as the Indies.”

The man with the broken head laughed. “When he does, there’s a noise in that part of the world.”

“And that’s