bottom. The shimmer of the water shook the reflection of her hull, and
made the edges of the stripes blend together. It was as if a rainbow
had suddenly flung itself down for me to sail over.

I looked up and read the name on her headboards, "James Silt."

At the same moment a child's voice over my head cried, "Oh, brother
Charles! what a little boy! what a pretty boat!"

The gliding sloop brought the speaker into view. She was a girl both
little and pretty. A rosy, blue-eyed, golden-haired sprite, hanging
over the gunwale, and smiling pleasantly at me.

"Yes, Betty," the voice of a cheerful, honest-looking young fellow at
the tiller--evidently brother Charles--replied. "He's a little chap,
but he's got a man into him. Hurrah!"

"Give way, 'Aladdin!' Stick to it! You're sure to get there."

The sloop had slid along by me now, so that I could read her name
repeated on her stern--"James Silt, New Haven."

"Good-bye, little boy!" cried my cherubic vision to me, flitting aft,
and leaning over the port davit.

"Good-bye, sissy!" I returned, and raising my voice, I hailed,
"Good-bye, Cap'n Silt!"

Brother Charles looked puzzled an instant. Then he gave a laugh, and
shouted across the broadening interval of burnished water, "You got my