“The bucket’s engaged,” said Craigie, bowing with ludicrous politeness, to poor Hannah, whose head he was supporting, “I must first attend to the lady.” The patience of the handsome young Quaker, under existing difficulties, was highly amusing. He bore the infliction of the prevailing malady with such a benign air of resignation, that it was quite edifying. Wiping the salt water from his face with a pocket-handkerchief of snowy whiteness, he exclaimed, turning to Flora, who was sitting at his feet with Josey in her arms, “Friend Flora, this sea-sickness is an evil emetic. It tries a man’s temper, and makes him guilty of the crime of wishing himself at the bottom of the sea.” “If you could rap out a good round oath or two, Mister Quaker, without choking yourself, it would do you a power of good,” said Craigie. “What’s the use of a big man putting up with the like o’ that, like a weak gall—women were made to bear—man to resist.” “The Devil, and he will flee from them,” said Adam. “You smooth-faced, unshaved fellows, have him always at your elbow,” said Craigie. “He teaches you long prayers—us big oaths. I wonder which cargo is the best to take to heaven.” “Two blacks don’t make a white, friend,” said Adam, good-naturedly. “Blasphemy, or hypocrisy either, is sufficient to sink the ship.” Night was now fast closing over the storm-tossed voyagers. The boat was half full of water, which flowed over Flora’s lap, and she began to feel very apprehensive for the safety of her child. At this moment, a large retriever dog which belonged to the captain of the boat, crept into her lap; and she joyfully placed the baby upon his shaggy back, and the warmth of the animal seemed greatly to revive the poor shivering Josey. It was nearly dark when Palmer roused Lyndsay from his stupor, and suggested the propriety of their return to ——. “You see, Sir,” he said, “I am quite willing to wait for the arrival of the _Soho_, but something must have gone wrong with her, or she would have been down before this. The crew of the boat have been now ten hours exposed to the storm, without a morsel of food, and if the wind should change, we should have to run in for the Port of Y——, twenty miles distant from this. Under existing circumstances, I think it advisable to return.” “By all means,” said Lyndsay. “This might have been done three hours ago;” and the next minute, to Flora’s inexpressible joy, the anchor was hoisted, and the gallant boat once more careering over the mighty billows. Her face was once more turned towards that dear home, to which she had bidden adieu in the morning; as she then imagined, for ever—“England”—she cried, stretching her arms towards the dusky shore. “Dear England! The winds and waves forbid our leaving you. Welcome,—oh, welcome, once more.”