"There, father!" Mrs. Marvel could not help saying triumphantly, "what do you say to that? Joshua is coming round to my old way of thinking." "Now, one would think," said George Marvel, appealing to an invisible audience, "that Joshua's done a bad thing by being a sailor." "Well, no," said Joshua; "I've nothing to grumble at; I've been very lucky, and I'm thankful for it. But it is a hard life for a common sailor. He's bullied here and buffeted there, and is obliged to be up at all times of the night and day sometimes, and he gets soaked and soaked until he hasn't a dry thing to put on. Then, when he's dead-beat and turns in, he hasn't been asleep an hour perhaps when all the watches are called on deck, and there he is again, half dead with sleep, wondering whether he is dreaming or not, till he is woke up with a vengeance by the water trickling down his back, and the wind blowing as if it would blow his eyes clean out of his head." Mrs. Marvel shivered with apprehension at Joshua's description; and he with ready tact continued,-- "But that's not often; and even when an inexperienced man would suppose there was great danger, there really is none at all. For the most part, it is fair and beautiful; and when you are bowling along under a steady breeze, with all sails set, surrounded by a bright cloud and bright water, there isn't a more glorious life in the world. If you were to see the ship, mother dear, on a calm day, with the sails like birds' white wings, with a deck as clean as this kitchen and the sailors sitting about mending sails and splicing ropes, while the grand albatrosses are flying over us, and shoals of beautiful fish are leaping like deer in the sea--if you were to see it then, you would almost wish you had been a man, so that you might be a sailor. And through all 'there's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, to keep watch for the life of poor Jack.'" "Indeed, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Marvel, satisfied with the sentiment of the quotation, though its meaning was not quite clear to her; "I'm glad to hear that." "Dear old mother!" said Joshua, in secret delight at her simplicity, kissing her. "But the best of it all is," said George Marvel, "it makes a man of you; your muscle's like a bit of iron. Feel mine, Josh--like a bit of soft putty. That comes of being a wood-turner." "Ellen and Mr. Meddler went down to Gravesend two hours ago," said Mrs. Marvel to Joshua, who was tying his accordion in his pocket-handkerchief. Joshua nodded. Brave as he had intended to be, spasms were rising in his throat. "You have all your things, dear?" "Yes, every thing."