at a glance for the second mate's daughter, but of whom, for form's
sake, he asked if there were a girl named Julia Tinker living there.

"My name's Julia Tinker," answered the maid, who had rather a
disappointing face.

"Well," said the contributor, "your father's got back from his Hong-Kong
voyage."

"Hong-Kong voyage?" echoed the girl, with a stare of helpless inquiry,
but no other visible emotion.

"Yes. He had never heard of your mother's death. He came home yesterday
morning, and was looking for you all day."

Julia Tinker remained open-mouthed but mute; and the other was puzzled
at the want of feeling shown, which he could not account for even as a
national trait. "Perhaps there's some mistake," he said.

"There must be," answered Julia: "my father hasn't been to sea for a
good many years. _My_ father," she added, with a diffidence
indescribably mingled with a sense of distinction,--"_my_ father 's in
State's Prison. What kind of looking man was this?"

The contributor mechanically described him.

Julia Tinker broke into a loud, hoarse laugh. "Yes, it's him, sure
enough." And then, as if the joke were too good to keep: "Mis' Hapford,
Mis' Hapford, father's got out. Do come here!" she called into a back
room.