“N.B. The _Anne_ is the last ship which leaves this port, for Canada, during the season.” “Hurra!” cried the volatile Jim, flinging his cap into the air; “a fig for Captain Ayre and the _Flora_. I’d lay sixpence if I had it, that we shall sail in the _Anne_.” “Let us go, James, and look at the vessel,” cried Flora, clapping her hands with delight. “Oh, if it had not been for our fright on the sands, we should not have seen this.” Flora hastened home to inform her husband of the important discovery they had made; and before half an hour had elapsed, she found herself in company with him and Jim, holding a conference with Captain Williams, in the little cabin of the _Anne_. CHAPTER XXIII. THE BRIG ANNE Was a small, old-fashioned, black-hulled vessel, marvellously resembling a collier in her outward appearance. She was a one-masted ship, of 180 tons burthen, and promised everything but aristocratic accommodations for women and children. The cabin was a low, square room, meant to contain only the captain and his mate; whose berths, curtained with coarse red stuff, occupied the opposite walls. The table in the centre was a fixture, and the bench which ran round three sides of this crib, was a fixture also; and though backed by the wall, was quite near enough to the table to serve the double purpose of chair or sofa. A small fireplace occupied the front of the cabin, at the side of which, a door opened into a tiny closet, which the Captain dignified with the name of his state-cabin. The compass was suspended in a brass box from the ceiling,—articles of comfort or luxury there were none. The Captain, a stout, broad-shouldered, red-faced man, like Captain Ayre of the _Flora_, was minus an eye; but the one which fortune had left him was a piercer. He was a rough, blunt-looking tar, some forty-five or fifty years of age; and looked about as sentimental and polite as a tame bear. His coarse, weather-beaten face had an honest, frank expression, and he bade his guests to be seated with an air of such hearty hospitality, that they felt quite at home in his narrow low den. He had no cabin-passengers, though a great many in the steerage; and he assured Flora that she could have the very best accommodations, as he would resign the state-cabin to her and the child. Mr. Lyndsay could occupy the mate’s berth in the cabin, and they could not fail of being quite snug and comfortable. The state-cabin was just big enough to hold the captain’s chest of drawers, the top of which, boarded, and draped with the same faded red stuff which decorated the outer room, formed the berth that Flora was to occupy. Small as the place was, it was scrupulously neat and clean, and possessed for Flora one great charm—that of privacy. She could, by shutting the door and drawing the bolt, at any time enjoy the luxury of finding herself, though in a crowded vessel, alone.