"
Mr. Boxer sighed. "It 'ud be a long story if I had the gift of telling
of it," he said, slowly, "but I'll cut it short for the present. When
the _North Star_ went down in the South Pacific most o' the hands got
away in the boats, but I was too late. I got this crack on the head with
something falling on it from aloft. Look here."
He bent his head, and Mrs. Boxer, separating the stubble with her
fingers, uttered an exclamation of pity and alarm at the extent of the
scar; Mrs. Gimpson, craning forward, uttered a sound which might mean
anything--even pity.
"When I come to my senses," continued Mr. Boxer, "the ship was sinking,
and I just got to my feet when she went down and took me with her. How I
escaped I don't know. I seemed to be choking and fighting for my breath
for years, and then I found myself floating on the sea and clinging to a
grating. I clung to it all night, and next day I was picked up by a
native who was paddling about in a canoe, and taken ashore to an island,
where I lived for over two years. It was right out o' the way o' craft,
but at last I was picked up by a trading schooner named the _Pearl,_
belonging to Sydney, and taken there.
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