"I oughtn't to have done so," she replied with humility; "and I won't
any more. There!" she said, "I'm not going to open my bag now. You
can take away the trunk when you want, Thomas."

"Yes, ma'am," said the boy. The idea of a school-mistress was perhaps
beginning to awe him a little. "Put your bag in your state-room
first." He did this, and when he came back from carrying away her
trunk he began to set the table. It was a pretty table, when set, and
made the little cabin much cosier. When the boy brought the dishes
from the cook's galley, it was a barbarously abundant table. There was
cold boiled ham, ham and eggs, fried fish, baked potatoes, buttered
toast, tea, cake, pickles, and watermelon; nothing was wanting. "I
tell you," said Thomas, noticing Lydia's admiration, "the captain
lives well lay-days."

"Lay-days?" echoed Lydia.

"The days we're in port," the boy explained.

"Well, I should think as much!" She ate with the hunger that
tranquillity bestows upon youth after the swift succession of strange
events, and the conflict of many emotions. The captain had not
returned in time, and she ate alone.

After a while she ventured to the top of the gangway stairs, and
stood there, looking at the novel sights of the harbor, in the red
sunset light, which rose slowly from the hulls and lower spars of
the shipping, and kindled the tips of the high-shooting masts with
a quickly fading splendor. A delicate flush responded in the east,
and rose to meet the denser crimson of the west; a few clouds,