little craft as she pitches down the long steep side of a wave, and then
the quiver and spring as she is tossed upwards again? Oh, if our souls
could transmigrate I'd be a seamew above all birds that fly! But I keep
you, Admiral. Adieu!"

The old sailor was too transported with sympathy to say a word. He
could only shake her broad muscular hand. She was half-way down the
garden path before she heard him calling her, and saw his grizzled head
and weather-stained face looking out from behind the curtains.

"You may put me down for the platform," he cried, and vanished abashed
behind the curtain of his Times, where his wife found him at lunch time.

"I hear that you have had quite a long chat with Mrs. Westmacott," said
she.

"Yes, and I think that she is one of the most sensible women that I ever
knew."

"Except on the woman's rights question, of course."

"Oh, I don't know. She had a good deal to say for herself on that also.
In fact, mother, I have taken a platform ticket for her meeting."



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CHAPTER VI.