“Then I command you to let me down this instant. Do you hear, crew!” “No,” objected David; “if I put you overboard you can't command the vessel, and ten to one if the craft does not founder for want of seawomanship on the quarterdeck. However,” added he, in a relenting tone, “wait till we get to that puddle shining on ahead, and then I'll disembark you.” “No, David, do let me down, that's a good soul. I am tired,” added she, peevishly. “Tired! of what?” “Of doing nothing, stupid; there, let me down, dear; won't you, darling! then take that, love” (a box of the ear). “Well, I've got it,” said David, dryly. “Keep it, then, till the next. No, he won't let me down. He has got both my hands in one of his paws, and he will carry me every foot of the way now--I know the obstinate pig.” “We all have our little characters, Eve. Well, I have got your wrists, but you have got your tongue, and that is the stronger weapon of the two, you know; and you are on the poop, so give your orders, and the ship shall be worked accordingly; likewise, I will enter all your remarks on good-breeding into my log.” Here, unluckily, David tapped his forehead to signify that the log in question was a metaphorical one, the log of memory. Eve had him again directly. She freed a claw. “So this is your log, is it?” cried she, tapping it as hard as she could; “well, it does sound like wood of some sort. Well, then, David, dear--you wretch, I mean--promise me not to laugh loud.” “Well, I will not; it is odds if I laugh at all. I wish we were to moor alongside mother, instead of running into this strange port.” “Stuff! think of Miss Fountain's figure-head--nor tell too many stories--and, above all, for heaven's sake, do keep the poor dear old sea out of sight for once.” “Ay, ay, that stands to reason.” By this time they were at Font Abbey, and David deposited his fair burden gently on the stone steps of the door. She opened it without ceremony, and bustled into the dining-room, crying, “I have brought David, sir; and here he is;” and she accompanied David's bow with a corresponding movement of her hand, the knuckles downward. The old gentleman awoke with a start, rubbed his eyes, shook hands with the pair, and proposed to go up to Lucy in the drawing-room. Now, it happened unluckily that Miss Fountain had been to the library and taken down one or two of those men and women who, according to her uncle, exist only on paper, and certain it is she was in charming company when she heard her visitors' steps and voices coming up the stairs. Had those visitors seen the vexed expression of her face as she laid down the book they would have instantly 'bout ship and home again; but that sour look dissolved away as they came through the open door. On coming in they saw a young lady seated on a sofa.