Fitz the Filibuster | Page 6

aching horribly and going round and round in a
mill.
It was while he was obliged to give this up as something he could not
master that he heard a click as of a door opening, and the next moment
some one came softly in, and a face was interposed between his and the
cabin-window.
It was a rather rough but pleasant-looking face, with dark brown eyes
and blackish curly hair, cut short. The face was a good deal sunburnt
too. But he did not take much notice of that; it was the eyes that caught
his attention, looking searchingly into his, and Fitz waited, expecting
the owner of the eyes would speak; and then it seemed to him that he
ought to ask something--about something. But about what? He did not
quite know, for he felt that though he was wide-awake he could not
think as he should. It was as if his apparatus was half asleep.
But the owner of the eyes did not say anything, only drew back and
disappeared, and as he did so, Fitz found that he could think, for he was
asking himself how it was that the fellow who had been looking at him
had disappeared.
He came to the conclusion directly afterwards that it was a dream. Then

he knew it was not, for he heard a gruff voice that seemed to come
through the boards say--
"All right, Poole. Tumble up directly. What say?"
"He's awake, father, and looks as if he had come to himself."
"Eh? Oh, that's good news. Come and see him directly."
Now Fitz began to think fast, but still not about himself.
"Father, eh?" he thought. "Whose father is he? He said he was coming
to see some one directly. Now I wonder who that may be."
That was as much as Fitz Burnett could get through upon this occasion,
for thinking had made his eyelids heavy, and the bright flashing water
at which he gazed seemed to grow dull and play upon the boards of his
berth just over his head and close at hand.
From growing dull, this rippling water grew very dark indeed, and then
for some time there was nothing more but sleep--beautiful sleep,
Nature's great remedy and cure for a heavy blow upon the head that has
been very close upon fracturing the bone, but which in this case fell so
far short that Fitz Burnett had only had severe concussion of the brain.
CHAPTER FOUR.
ANOTHER BOY.
It was either sunrise or sunset, for the cabin was full of a rich warm
glow, and Fitz lay upon his back listening to a peculiar sound which
sounded to him like fuzz, whuzz, thrum.
He did not attempt to turn his head for some moments, though he
wanted to know what made those sounds, for during some little time he
felt too lazy to stir, and at last he turned his head gently and
remembered the eyes that had looked at him once, and recalled the face
now bent down over something before him from which came those

peculiar sounds.
Fitz felt interested, and watched the busy ringers, the passing and
re-passing needle, and the manipulation of a mesh, for some time
before he spoke.
"How quick and clever he is!" he thought, and then almost
unconsciously a word slipped out.
"Netting?" he said.
Needle, string and mesh were thrown down, and Fitz's fellow-occupier
of the cabin started up and came to his side, to bend over and lay a
brown cool hand upon his forehead.
"Feel better?" he said.
"Better?" said Fitz peevishly.
"Yes, of course."
"Why--Here, stop a moment. Who are you?"
"No doubt about it," was the reply. "That's the first time you have
talked sensibly."
"You be hanged!" said Fitz sharply.
But as he spoke it did not seem like his own voice, but as if somebody
else had spoken in a weak, piping tone. He did not trouble himself
about that, though, for his mind was beginning to be an inquiring one.
"Why don't you answer?" he said. "Who are you? What's your name?"
"Poole Reed."
"Oh! Then how came you in my cabin?"
"Well," said the lad, with a pleasant laugh, which made his rather plain

face light up in the warm sunset glow and look almost handsome; not
that that was wonderful, for a healthy, good-tempered boy's face, no
matter what his features, always has a pleasant look,--"I think I might
say what are you doing in my cabin?"
"Eh?" cried Fitz, looking puzzled. "How came I--your cabin--your
cabin? Is it your cabin?"
The lad nodded.
"I don't know," said Fitz. "How did I come here?"
"But it is my cabin--rather."
"Yes, yes; but how did I come here?"
"Why, in the boat."
"In a boat?" said Fitz