Mad Haco startled at last.

That evening Haco Barepoles was seen on the road to Cove, with his coat-skirts, his cravat-ends, and his hair streaming in the breeze.

An hour previously, however, a brass band was seen walking towards the same place, and, half an hour after that, a young midshipman was observed posting rapidly in the same direction.

It was dark when Gildart entered the village, and all the inhabitants were in their dwellings, so that he reached Gaff’s cottage unperceived.

The village was a primitive one. Locks were deemed unnecessary in most of the cottages, probably because there was nothing worth stealing within them. Gildart lifted the latch and entered. A fire, nearly out, with a large piece of coal on it, burned in the grate. The flicker of this was sufficient to illuminate the boudoir faintly.

Having surveyed the apartment, examined the closet, and looked under the bed, he went out, and, going to the back of the cottage, found the band waiting in some anxiety.

“Now, lads, come this way,” said Gildart; “and there’s only one piece of advice I’ve got to give you: don’t stir hand or foot after Haco enters the cottage. He’s as big as an elephant, and strong as a lion. If you stir, and he finds you out, he won’t spare you.”

“But you promise to come to the rescue, master,” said the French horn in some alarm.

“Ay, that will I; but he’ll have two of you floored, another strangled, and the fourth half-skinned before I can get him to stop.”

“I don’t half like it,” said the clarionet anxiously.

“Pooh! pooh!” exclaimed the key-bugle, “we’ll be more than a match for him; come on; it’s worth riskin’ for twenty-five bob.”

“Hear! hear!” cried the trombone.

“Well, then, enter,” said Gildart, pushing open the door, and holding it while the band filed into the passage. He followed them and closed the door.

In a short time Haco Barepoles made his appearance. He also passed through the village unobserved, and, entering the cottage, closed the door. Thereafter he proceeded to make himself comfortable. The “boodwar” was empty—at least of human beings, though there was the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance in the corner, and the new clock near it, and the portraits and the great four-poster, and all the other articles of elegance and luxury with which Mrs Gaff had filled her humble dwelling.

“A queer place,” muttered the mad skipper in a soft voice to himself, as he moved about the room, poked up the fire, and made preparations for spending the night. “Gaff wouldn’t know the old cabin—humph! but it’s all done out o’ kindness; well, well, there’s no accountin’ for women, they’re paridoxies. Hallo! this here closet didn’t use to be bolted, but it’s bolted now. Hows’ever here’s the loaf and the tea-pot an’ the kettle. Now, Mrs Gaff, you’re an attentive creetur, nevertheless you’ve forgot bilin’ water, an’, moreover, there an’t no water in the house. Ah, here’s a bucket; that’ll do; I’ll go to the well an’ help myself; it’s well that I can do it,” said Haco, chuckling at his own pun with great satisfaction as he went out to the back of the house.

There was a sudden, though not loud, sound of hollow brass chinking under the four-post bed.

“Now then, can’t you keep still?” said the clarionet in a hoarse whisper.

“It’s cramp in my leg,” growled the trombone. “I’d have had to come out if he hadn’t guv me this chance.”

“Won’t you hold your tongues?” whispered Gildart from the closet, the door of which he opened slightly.

He shut it with a sudden clap, and there was another clanking of brass as Haco’s footsteps were heard outside, but dead silence reigned within the hut when the skipper re-entered, and set down on the floor a large bucket full of water.

“Now then for tea,” said Haco, rubbing his hands, as he set about the preparation of that meal. Being acquainted with the ways and localities of the cottage, he speedily had the board spread, and the tea smoking thereon, while the fire flared cheerfully on the walls, casting fine effects of light and shade on the pictures, and sprinkling the prominences of the clocks, bed, and furniture with ruddy gleams.

Having devoured his meal with an appetite and gusto worthy of his size, Haco filled his much-loved German pipe, and, selecting the strongest chair in the room, sat cautiously down on it beside the fire to enjoy a smoke.

Meanwhile the brass band endured agonies unutterable. The trombone afterwards vowed that he “wouldn’t for fifty sovs” again go through what he had suffered during the hour that the mad skipper sat by that fire enjoying his evening pipe!

At last the pipe was smoked out, and Haco began to divest himself of his upper garments. Being an active man, he was soon undressed and in bed, where he lay for a long time perfectly still. Presently he gave vent to a deep sigh, and turned on his back, in which position he lay quite still for at least five minutes. At last he gave a soft puff with his lips, and followed it up with a mild snort from his nose.

This was immediately followed by a light single tap at the closet door.

Instantly the first bar of the Banging-Smash Polka burst from beneath the bed with such startling suddenness and energy that Gildart was himself rendered almost breathless. Haco awoke with a yell so dreadful that the brass band stopped for a single instant, but it burst forth again with a degree of fury that almost rent the trombone in twain!

The a............