The ship was nearing the Irish coast. It was a delightful June day and most of the passengers were on deck. Two ladies sat a little apart from the crowd of ship-chairs under the cabin awning. One was fair, plump, pretty and dressed in black; the cabin passengers called her "the lovely Widow." She was a Mrs. Morris on her way to Europe to join her brother, accompanied by her two nephews (sons of two brothers), her sister Nora, and her maid. The other lady was Miss Nora. She was much younger than her sister whom she did not resemble in the least, being a tall straight, slim, handsome young woman with black hair and dark gray eyes in which sparkled a suspicious gleam of mirth.

Mrs. Morris was speaking: "He is a perfect young savage! Such manners, and such grammar--I am sure no one would dream that his father was a bishop. Do you suppose all Western boys are that way? And such a temper, too! I assure you, Nora, he was fighting the whole time we were in New York. And look at the way he treats Edmund--I wonder the boy stands it--poor nice fellow!"

"Edmund is nice," answered Nora, "but Oscar has his good points--what are they all crowding aft for?"

With an exclamation of "Those dreadful children!" the elder lady extricated herself from her rug and hurried aft. Nora followed. Evidently there had been a quarrel of some sort. The purser and the deck-steward were each holding a boy.

The steward's captive, a handsome, flushed, black-haired lad of thirteen, was kicking and pushing and making violent efforts to wiggle out between the steward's legs. The other lad stood perfectly quiet. He was taller than the dark boy and might have been two years older, but he was of a much slighter build. His fair hair was disordered, his nose bleeding, and his collar torn. Looking up into the purser's face, he said in a low tone, "_Please_ let us fight it out. He'll bully me again, if you don't!"

At this the dark boy stopped in his violent attacks on the steward's legs and said, breathlessly: "Well, you ain't such a milksop after all, Ned!"

"No, no," said the purser; "no fighting on the _Gallia_. You two young gentlemen must promise to let each other alone while you are on shipboard or"--

"O, promise, Ned," the dark boy interrupted, "we can have it out onshore, you know! Say, _I_ promise, let me go."

"I promise, too, then," said the fair boy.

"Mind you both remember," said the purser, releasing his captive; and turning to Mrs. Morris: "No harm done yet ma'am."

Both boys recognized their aunt; they had been too busy with each other before to look about. They stood silently by, Oscar grinning and Edmund frowning, while she apologized for their conduct. Then she turned to them and led them to an impromptu court of justice behind the wheel-house. The proceedings were brief. Oscar told his story. As usual, he related a perfectly plain, uncolored tale, making no excuse for himself.