wish Gerrit could marry someone like you--"

"But who would give him sons," she interrupted.

"It's just as you say about him, and I've always been uneasy. God knows
what he won't do--on land. William's a great deal happier, for all his
brother's humor. I joke William, but he's very satisfactory and solid.
He'll make port if he doesn't get tied up with newfangled notions. Why,
it stands to reason that a ship built like a knife would double up in the
seas off the Falklands."

"He has a lot of confidence in Mr. McKay."

"McKay is a good man unsettled. The _May Broughton_ is a fine barque,
and his packet ships are as seaworthy as any, but--" his indignation
increased so that he sputtered, and Rhoda laughed. "Now your girls,"
he added, "fine models, all of them, plenty of beam, work in any kind
of weather."

"That's very complimentary," she assured him, rising. "You mustn't worry
about Gerrit. Remember, my predictions never fail."

When she had gone his mind returned to storms he had safely
weathered--the gray gales of Cape Horn, black hurricanes and the
explosive tempests in eastern straits and seas. He took from the drawer
of a bookcase with glass doors set in geometrical pattern a thin volume
bound in black boards. A paper label was inscribed in a small, carefully
formed script, "Journal of my intended voyage from Salem to the East
Indies in the Ship _Woodbine_." He opened at random: