“It’s the finest sight I ever saw in my life, Bross,” he said when the other had finished. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’ve been feeling very low this last week, and it’s done me good. Don’t talk nonsense about leaving the ship. I wouldn’t lose you for anything after this, but if you like to ship a fresh mate and crew you can please yourself. If you’ll only come up to the house and let Mrs. Pearson see you—she’s been ailing—I’ll give you a couple of pounds. Now, get your bonnet and come.” THE BOATSWAIN’S WATCH Captain Polson sat in his comfortable parlour smiling benignly upon his daughter and sister. His ship, after an absence of eighteen months, was once more berthed in the small harbour of Barborough, and the captain was sitting in that state of good-natured affability which invariably characterised his first appearance after a long absence. “No news this end, I suppose,” he inquired, after a lengthy recital of most extraordinarily uninteresting adventures. “Not much,” said his sister Jane, looking nervously at her niece. “Young Metcalfe has gone into partnership with his father.” “I don’t want to hear about those sharks,” said the captain, waxing red. “Tell me about honest men.” “Joe Lewis has had a month’s imprisonment for stealing fowls,” said Miss Polson meekly. “Mrs. Purton has had twins—dear little fellows they are, fat as butter!—she has named one of them Polson, after you. The greedy one.” “Any deaths?” inquired the captain snappishly, as he eyed the innocent lady suspiciously. “Poor old Jasper Wheeler has gone,” said his sister; “he was very resigned. He borrowed enough money to get a big doctor from London, and when he heard that there was no hope for him he said he was just longing to go, and he was sorry he couldn’t take all his dear ones with him. Mary Hewson is married to Jack Draper, and young Metcalfe’s banns go up for the third time next Sunday.” “I hope he gets a Tartar,” said the vindictive captain. “Who’s the girl? Some silly little fool, I know. She ought to be warned!” “I don’t believe in interfering in marriages,” said his daughter Chrissie, shaking her head sagely. “Oh!” said the captain, staring, “_you_ don’t! Now you’ve put your hair up and taken to wearing long frocks, I suppose you’re beginning to think of it.” “Yes; auntie wants to tell you something!” said his daughter, rising and crossing the room. “No, I don’t!” said Miss Polson hastily. “You’d better do it,” said Chrissie, giving her a little push, “there’s a dear; I’ll go upstairs and lock myself in my room.” The face of the captain, whilst this conversation was passing, was a study in suppressed emotions. He was a firm advocate for importing the manners of the quarter-deck into private life, the only drawback being that he had to leave behind him the language usual in that locality. To this omission he usually ascribed his failures. “Sit down, Chrissie,” he commanded; “sit down, Jane. Now, miss, what’s all this about?”