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"What is she, do you think?" said Captain Acton.,

"Had your supper, Pa?" she asked.,

"You are a Portia," said Captain Acton.,

"By Gosh, you've hit it right on the head. That's what eddication does fer a man—makes him sharp as a razor. Yes, they're brothers an' so much alike all I've got to do is describe one of 'em an' you have 'em all."

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Mrs. Keeler gulped and reached for her apron but recollecting that she had hung it up to dry, rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. "Cobin says that young man is jest about heartbroke, spite o' the smile he wears," she said. "Tries so hard to be cheerful, too, in spite of all. Preacher Reddick had supper with us last Sunday night an' he said the teacher was the finest specimen of Christly example he'd ever seen.",

Captain Acton and Lucy often walked the deck deep in talk. The Captain had decided in his own mind to place Eagle in charge of the Minorca, with orders to proceed to Kingston, providing there was no disaffection[Pg 430] amongst the crew, and Mr Lawrence would be transferred to the Aurora and conveyed to England. What excuses would he plead? What apologies would he offer? What sort of a figure would he make in the sight of his father? in the thoughts of the girl whom in the sacred name of love he had used with such reckless cruelty, as to deprive her of her reason, as he supposed? in the opinion of the kindly gentleman whose confidence he had grossly abused? Would he, when landed in England, consent to ship as a sailor before the mast, and conceal himself for the remainder of his life in a distant land? If not, what would he do? What must be his fate?,

"Who is to work the ship for him?" asked Pledge. "For you may depend upon it that if the crew are to be carried away to an unbeknown place, they'll all go below to a man, for Jack's as good as his master when it comes to his having to do something which he didn't agree for.",

Next day was Sunday and Billy did not like Sundays. They meant the scrubbing of his face, ears and neck with "Old Brown Windsor" soap until it fairly cracked if he so much as smiled, and being lugged off with his parents and Anse to early forenoon Sunday School in the little frame church in the Valley. There was nothing interesting about Sunday School; it was the same old hum-drum over and over again—same lessons, same teachers, same hymns, same tunes; with Deacon Ringold's assertive voice cutting in above all the other voices both in lessons and singing and with Mrs. Scraff's shrill treble reciting, for her class's edification, her pet verse: "Am I nothing to thee, all ye who pass by?"—only Mrs. Scraff always improvised more or less on the scriptures, and usually threw the verse defiantly from her in this form: "You ain't nuthin to me, all you who pass me by."