“These trades are almost as good as compasses,” he said, “and the rocks are better, if we can keep close aboard them without going on to them. I do not know the exact distance of the spot we seek from the brig, but I judged it to be about two leagues, as I looked at it from aloft. Now, this boat will travel them two leagues in an hour, with this breeze and in smooth water.” “I wish you had seen the fire again before we left the brig,” said Rose, too anxious for the result not to feel uneasiness on some account or other. “The mate is asleep, and the fire has burned down; that's the explanation. Besides, fuel is not too plenty on a place like that Mr. Mulford inhabits just now. As we get near the spot, I shall look out for embers, which may sarve as a light-house, or beacon, to guide us into port.” “Mr. Mulford will be charmed to see us, now that we take him wather!” exclaimed Biddy. “Wather is a blessed thing, and it's hard will be the heart that does not fale gratitude for a planty of swate wather.” “The maty has plenty of food and water where he is,” said Jack. “I'll answer for both them sarcumstances. I saw him turn a turtle as plain as if I had been at his elbow, and I saw him drinking at a hole in the rock, as heartily as a boy ever pulled at a gimblet-hole in a molasses hogs-head.” “But the distance was so great, Jack, I should hardly think you could have distinguished objects so small.” “I went by the motions altogether. I saw the man, and I saw the movements, and I knowed what the last meant. It's true I couldn't swear to the turtle, though I saw something on the rock that I knowed, by the way in which it was handled, _must_ be a turtle. Then I saw the mate kneel, and put his head low, and then I knowed he was drinking.” “Perhaps he prayed,” said Rose, solemnly. “Not he. Sailors isn't so apt to pray, Miss Rose; not as apt as they ought to be. Women for prayers, and men for work. Mr. Mulford is no worse than many others, but I doubt if he be much given to _that_.” To this Rose made no answer, but Biddy took the matter up, and, as the boat went briskly ahead, she pursued the subject. “Then more is the shame for him,” said the Irish woman, “and Miss Rose, and missus, and even I prayin' _for_ him, all as if he was our own brudder. It's seldom I ask anything for a heretic, but I could not forget a fine young man like Mr. Mulford, and Miss Rose so partial to him, and he in so bad a way. He ought to be ashamed to make his brags that he is too proud to pray.” “Harry has made no such wicked boast,” put in Rose, mildly; “nor do we know that he has not prayed for us, as well as for himself. It may all be a mistake of Jack's, you know.”