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"Talking of Nelson," said Sir William, "have you heard the yarn that is told of Tom Cooke, the actor? He came on in the part of old Barnwell, and when stabbed forgot the words, and would have died speechless. His murderer whispered with agitation, 'For heaven's sake, say something—anything,' on which Tom, throwing up his little three-cornered [Pg 8]hat, shouted in his thick lisp, 'Nelson for ever!' and died amidst louder applause than was ever provoked by the finest strokes of Garrick or Siddons.",

Mrs. Keeler broke in. "Anson, humph! Why, that boy had the nerve to say that I should give him ten cents fer watchin' the kettle while them two dear boys was out in the storm, huntin' fer Pa's sow. I give him a box on the ear instead an' sent him home on the jump. Maybe I was a bit hasty but I was mad after havin' to give that old Caleb Spencer a piece of my mind fer sendin' me sawdust instead of groceries. I guess he won't try that ag'in.",

"Croaker," Erie called. At the sound of her voice the crow stopped trying to tear the nosepiece from the lens and cocked his head side-wise.,

The cabin was empty. Mr Pledge was again superintending work forward. Mr Eagle kept the look-out. This was the ship's first day from home. The watches had not been set, and it would be "all hands" with the ship's company until the second dog-watch came round. The vessel swayed on the heave of the swell with the ponderosity,[Pg 288] you would have looked for in one of her mould. She creaked in every timber. She pitched rapidly, albeit the blue afternoon hollow was very shallow, but the sullenness of the sturdy round bows was in her longwise motion. If Lucy meant to be sea-sick she was neglecting her chance, for here was movement more fitted to discompose the land-going stomach than the lofty billow that is swung by the storm. But so far this sweet and amazing young lady had proved herself as good a sailor as Mr Lawrence himself.

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The schooner was washing slowly along under her three lower gaff sails only, and the frigate that carried everything but studding sails was speedily within ranging and hailing distance. She was the Amphion, without much beauty to detain the eye, unless the gaze climbed aloft where every sail was cut and set with the perfection that was the characteristic of the British man-of-war, and where the running and standing rigging was ruled as delicately against the sky as though exquisitely pencilled on paper, and on high, just under the gleaming button of the truck, shimmered the long pennant in fluctuating dyes like a thread of a girl's golden hair floating on the breeze. But her sheathing was rusty and ungainly with marine growths, and her sides wanted the paint-pot, but the run of the hammock cloths was as white as snow, and her row of cannon and the sparkle of uniform buttons and the colour got from the marine sentry posted here or there, heightened the war-like spectacle to the degree of a marine piece charged with the loveliness of finish and precision and imposing and stirring with the spirit of war.,

"You kin stay if your want to, Willium," she said, "only see that you are home bright and early in the mornin'. Your Pa'll want you to help hill potaters.",

"Fine; keepin' up as well as though you saw right where you're goin'. They're only a little ahead now.",

"Not before?" cried Miss Acton, an exclamation which Captain Weaver received with a faint smile.