changing into the dry things we gave him, fell to, but without much
appearance of hunger, upon some salt beef and biscuits, regarding us
between bites with black, lack-lustre eyes.

"He seems as though he's a-walking in his sleep," said the cook.

"He ain't very hungry," said one of the men; "he seems to mumble his
food."

"Hungry!" repeated Bill, who had just left the wheel. "Course he ain't
famished. He had his tea last night."

The men stared at him in bewilderment.

"Don't you see?" said Bill, still in a hoarse whisper; "ain't you ever
seen them eyes afore? Don't you know what he used to say about dying?
It's Jem Dadd come back to us. Jem Dadd got another man's body, as he
always said he would."

"Rot!" said Roberts, trying to speak bravely, but he got up, and, with
the others, huddled together at the end of the fo'c's'le, and stared in a
bewildered fashion at the sodden face and short, squat figure of our
visitor. For his part, having finished his meal, he pushed his plate
from him, and, leaning back on the locker, looked at the empty bunks.

Roberts caught his eye, and, with a nod and a wave of his hand, indicated
the bunks. The fellow rose from the locker, and, amid a breathless
silence, climbed into one of them--Jem Dadd's!

He slept in the dead sailor's bed that night, the only man in the