has its fill of the gentle steady wind. It is a heavenly night.
The peace of God broods upon His waters. No jarring note offends
the ear. In the forecastle a voice is humming a song of Eva Denison's
that has caught the fancy of the men; the young girl who sang it so
sweetly not twenty minutes since who sang it again and again to
please the crew she alone is at war with our little world she alone
would head a mutiny if she could.

"I hate the captain!" she says again.

"My dear Miss Denison!" I begin; for she has always been severe upon
our bluff old man, and it is not the spirit of contrariety alone
which makes me invariably take his part. Coarse he may be, and not
one whom the owners would have chosen to command the Lady Jermyn; a
good seaman none the less, who brought us round the Horn in foul
weather without losing stitch or stick. I think of the ruddy ruffian
in his dripping oilskins, on deck day and night for our sakes, and
once more I must needs take his part; but Miss Denison stops me
before I can get out another word.

"I am not dear, and I'm not yours," she cries. "I'm only a
school-girl - you have all but told me so before to-day! If I were
a man - if I were you - I should tell Captain Harris what I thought
of him!"

"Why? What has he done now?"

"Now? You know how rude he was to poor Mr. Ready this very
afternoon!"