stamp- on a cockroach. This lad Hawkins is a trump, I perceive. Hawkins, will you ring that bell? Mr. Dance must have some ale."
"And so, Jim," said the doctor, "you have the thing that they were after, have you?"
"Here it is, sir," said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.
The doctor looked it all over, as if his fingers were itching to open it; but, instead of doing that, he put it quietly in the pocket of his coat.
"Squire," said he, "when Dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off on his majesty's service; but I mean to keep Jim Hawkins here to sleep at my house, and, with your permission, I propose we should have up the cold pie, and let him sup."
"As you will, Livesey," said the squire; "Hawkins has earned better than cold pie."
So a big pigeon pie was brought in and put on a sidetable, and I made a hearty supper, for I was as hungry as a hawk, while Mr. Dance was further complimented, and at last dismissed.
"And now, squire," said the doctor. "And now, Livesey," said the squire, in the same breath.
"One-at a time, one at a time," laughed Doctor Livesey. "You have heard of this Flint, I suppose?" 'Heard of him!" cried the squire. 'Heard of him, you say! He was the blood-thirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard1 was a child to Flint. The Spanlards were so prodigiously afraid of him that, I tell
