him, he had dropped behind Mr. Endymion, and kept well out of reach of
the searching snake of polished cane.

The Skipper greeted the new-comer with his loftiest courtesy, which was
quite thrown away on the old gentleman.

"Hey! hey!" said Mr. Scraper, nodding his head, and fumbling in his
waistcoat pocket, "got some shells, I hear! Got some shells, eh? Nothing
but rubbish, I'll swear; nothing but rubbish. Seen 'em all before you
were born; not worth looking at, I'll bet a pumpkin."

"Why, Deacon Scraper, how you do talk!" exclaimed pretty Lena Brown, who
was standing near by. "The shells are just elegant, I think; too
handsome for anything."

"All rubbish! all rubbish!" the old gentleman repeated, hastily.
"Children's nonsense, every bit of it. Have you got anything out of the
common, though? have you, hey?"

He looked up suddenly at the Skipper, screwing his little eyes at him
like animated corkscrews; but he read nothing in the large, calm gaze
that met his.

"The gentleman please to step down in the cabin," the Skipper said, with
a stately gesture. "At liberty in a moment, I shall take the pleasure to
exhibit my collection. The gentleman is a collector?" he added, quietly;
but this Mr. Scraper would not hear of.

"Nothing of the sort!" he cried, testily, "nothing of the sort! Just
came down here with this fool boy, to keep him from falling into the