"What did he steal, Mr. Barkspear?" I asked, indignantly.
"Well, he stole some things out of the buttery."
"Yes, sir! That's just what he stole—something to eat! He didn't have breakfast enough to keep his stomach from grumbling, and he stole a piece of boiled pork and some cold potatoes."
"That boy eats more'n enough for four men!" exclaimed Barkspear, in disgust.
"No matter if he does; he ought not to be starved. In this house we have enough to eat, and that which is first rate too. When Sim told me he didn't get enough to eat, I pitied him, for I'm not used to such things."
Captain Fishley almost smiled at this "first-rate notice" of the fare at his house; and my judicious commendation saved me any more hard questions from him.
"When boys are growing, they feed pretty strong," added the captain, now entirely non-committal.
"Sim was half starved, and I gave him some of the good things from our buttery; and I don't think anybody here will say I stole them. They don't call it stealing when any one takes something to eat, either for himself or to give to some one that's hungry."
Captain Fishley looked benevolent and magnanimous, but he did not say anything. He took credit to himself for the state of things I explained.
"Sim has run away, and if you want to know where he has gone, you must ask some one besides me," I added.