“I’m very sorry,” said the captain.  “I wish you’d told me of it before.  If I catch you up there again,” he cried, shaking his fist at Mr. Tasker, “you’ll remember it.  Come down!”

Mr. Tasker, placing the glass under his arm, came slowly and reluctantly down the ratlines.

“I wasn’t looking in at the window, Mr. Chalk,” he said, earnestly.  “I was watching the birds.  O’ course, I couldn’t help seeing in a bit, but I always shifted the spy-glass at once if there was anything that I thought I oughtn’t—­”

“That’ll do,” broke in the captain, hastily.  “Go in and get the tea ready.  If I so much as see you looking at that glass again we part, my lad, mind that.”

“I don’t suppose he meant any harm,” said the mollified Mr. Chalk, after the crestfallen Joseph had gone into the house.  “I hope I haven’t been and said too much, but my wife insisted on me coming round and speaking about it.”

“You did quite right,” said the captain, “and I thank you for coming.  I told him he might go up there occasionally, but I particularly warned him against giving any annoyance to the neighbours.”

“I suppose,” said Mr. Chalk, gazing at the erection with interest—­ “I suppose there’s a good view from up there?  It’s like having a ship in the garden, and it seems to remind you of the North Pole, and whales, and Northern Lights.”

Five minutes later Mr. Tasker, peering through the pantry window, was surprised to see Mr. Chalk ascending with infinite caution to the crow’s-nest.  His high hat was jammed firmly over his brows and the telescope was gripped tightly under his right arm.  The journey was evidently regarded as one of extreme peril by the climber; but he held on gallantly and, arrived at the top, turned a tremulous telescope on to the horizon.

Mr. Tasker took a deep breath and resumed his labours.  He set the table, and when the water boiled made the tea, and went down the garden to announce the fact.  Mr. Chalk was still up aloft, and even at that height the pallor of his face was clearly discernible.  It was evident to the couple below that the terrors of the descent were too much for him, but that he was too proud to say so.

“Nice view up there,” called the captain.

“B—­b—­beautiful,” cried Mr. Chalk, with an attempt at enthusiasm.

The captain paced up and down impatiently; his tea was getting cold, but the forlorn figure aloft made no sign.  The captain waited a little longer, and then, laying hold of the shrouds, slowly mounted until his head was above the platform.

“Shall I take the glass for you?” he inquired.

Mr. Chalk, clutching the edge of the cask, leaned over and handed it down.

“My—­my foot’s gone to sleep,” he stammered.

“Ho!  Well, you must be careful how you get down,” said the captain, climbing on to the platform.  “Now, gently.”

He put the telescope back into the cask, and, beckoning Mr. Tasker to ascend, took Mr. Chalk in a firm grasp and lowered him until he was able to reach Mr. Tasker’s face with his foot.  After that the descent was easy, and Mr. Chalk, reaching ground once more, spent two or three minutes in slapping and rubing, and other remedies prescribed for sleepy feet.