Notwithstanding the little drawback just related, that was a happy as well as a delicious repast. The mate did full justice to the soup, and afterward to the fish with the unpoetical name; and Rose ate more than she had done in the last three days. The habits of discipline prevented Jack from taking his seat at table, though pressed by both Rose and Harry to do so, but he helped himself to the contents of a bowl, and did full justice to his own art, on one aside. The little fellow was delighted with the praises that were bestowed on his dishes; and for the moment, the sea, its dangers, its tornadoes, wrecks and races, were all forgotten in the security and pleasures of so savory a repast. “Folk ashore don’t know how sailors sometimes live,” said Jack, holding a large spoon filled with the soup ready to plunge into a tolerably capacious mouth. “Or how they sometimes starve,” answered Rose. “Remember our own situation, less than forty-eight hours since!” “All very true, Miss Rose; yet, you see, turtle-soup brings us up, a’ter all. Would you choose a glass of wine, maty?” “Very much indeed, Jack, after so luscious a soup; but wishing for it will not bring it here.” “That remains to be seen, sir. I call this a bottle of something that looks wery much like a wine.” “Claret, as I live! Why, where should light-house keepers get the taste for claret?” “I’ve thought of that myself, Mr. Mulford, and have supposed that some of Uncle Sam’s officers have brought the liquor to this part of the world. I understand a party on ’em was here surveyin’ all last winter. It seems they come in the cool weather, and get their sights and measure their distances, and go home in the warm weather, and work out their traverses in the shade, as it might be.” “This seems likely, Jack; but come, whence it may, it is welcome, and we will taste it.”