“Ay, ay, Madam Budd,” put in Spike, “I'll answer for that. They're desperate talkers in and about them there insurance offices in Wall street. Great gossips be they, and they think they know everything. Now just because this brig is a little old or so, and was built for a privateer in the last war, they'd refuse to rate her as even B, No. 2, and my blessing on 'em.” “Yes, B, No. 2, that's just what your dear uncle used to call me, Rosy--his charming B, No. 2, or Betsy, No. 2; particularly when he was in a loving mood. Captain Spike, did you ever beat the wind in a long voyage?” “I can't say I ever did, Mrs. Budd,” answered Spike, looking grimly around, to ascertain if any one dared to smile at his passenger's mistake; “especially for so long a pull as from New York to Liverpool.” “Then your uncle used to boast of the Rose In Bloom's wearing and attacking. She would attack anything that came in her way, no matter who, and as for wearing, I think he once told me she would wear just what she had a mind to, like any human being.” Rose was a little mystified, but she looked vexed at the same time, as if she distrusted all was not right. “I remember all my sea education,” continued the unsuspecting widow, “as if it had been learnt yesterday. Beating the wind and attacking ship, my poor Mr. Budd used to say, were nice manoeuvres, and required most of his tactics, especially in heavy weather. Did you know, Rosy dear, that sailors weigh the weather, and know when it is heavy and when it is light?” “I did not, aunt; nor do I understand now how it can very well be done.” “Oh! child, before you have been at sea a week, you will learn so many things that are new, and get so many ideas of which you never had any notion before, that you'll not be the same person. My captain had an instrument he called a thermometer, and with that he used to weigh the weather, and then he would write down in the log-book 'today, heavy weather, or to-morrow, light weather,' just as it happened, and that helped him mightily along in his voyages.” “Mrs. Budd has merely mistaken the name of the instrument--the 'barometer' is what she wished to say,” put in Mulford, opportunely. Rose looked grateful, as well as relieved. Though profoundly ignorant on these subjects herself, she had always suspected her aunt's knowledge. It was, consequently, grateful to her to ascertain that, in this instance, the old lady's mistake had been so trifling.