"I'll tell you what it is, Daggett," said our hero, "good-fellowship is
good-fellowship, and the flag is the flag. It is the duty of all us Yankee
seamen to stand by the stripes; and I hope I'm as ready as another to do
what I ought to do, in such a matter; but my owner is a close calculator,
and I am much inclined to think that he will care less for this sort of
feeling than you and I. The deacon was never in blue water."

"So I suppose--He has a charming daughter, I believe, Gar'ner?"

"You mean his niece, I suppose," answered Roswell, colouring. "The deacon
never had any child himself, I believe--at least he has none living. Mary
Pratt is his niece."

"It's all the same--niece or daughter, she's comely, and will be rich, I
hear. _Well_, I am _poor_, and what is more, a _cripple!_"

Roswell could have knocked his companion down, for he perfectly understood
the character of the allusion; but he had sufficient self-command to
forbear saying anything that might betray how much he felt.

It is always easier to work upon the sensitiveness of a spirited and
generous-minded man, than to influence him by force or apprehensions.
Roswell had never liked the idea of leaving Daggett behind him, at that
season, and in that latitude; and he relished it still less, now that he
saw a false reason might be attributed to his conduct.

"You certainly do not dream of wintering here, Captain Daggett?" he said,
after a pause.