The poor chap--Butterwell, his name was--looked awfully down when he saw me come back, but he wouldn't show it more than he could help; he only said something about wishing he'd had canaries, and turning his back to me, began to whistle, and feed his other birds, of which he'd got quite five hundred in a place fitted up on purpose, though there was nearly always one or two dead of a morning, specially if the night had been rough. Well, somehow, I got to see that Miss Bell was not without her admirers; while her brother, poor chap, clinging to her as the only being he had to love on earth, seemed to hate for a soul to speak to her, and whenever I saw him, he used to watch her every look. Not that he had any need, for she seemed almost to worship him; leading him about; reading to him for hours, till I've heard her husky and hoarse, and have gone and fetched a glass of lime-juice and water from the steward, to get a pleasant smile from her, and a nod from the sick man for what I had done. "You're a lucky man, Roberts," Mr Ward says to me one day when he had seen me fetch it, and the pay I got for my trouble. "What for?" I says gruffly, for it wasn't no business of his. "P'raps you'd like to change places, sir, eh?" But he only laughed, and the more rough I was, the better friends we kept. There were many more passengers, of course, but I never saw that they were any different to other cargoes of emigrants as I had helped to take over: there was two or three of those young chaps that always go out to make fortunes, packed off by their friends because they don't know what to do with them at home; some young farmers, and labourers, and mechanics--some with wife and children, some without; children there was plenty of--always is where there's women; and one way and another there was enough to make the ship uncomfortable, without a skipper who was a brute, and a mate a cowardly sneak. The crew were as bad a lot as ever ran round a capstan, but that was no reason why they were to be treated like dogs. If they'd been as good men as ever stepped, it would have been the same, for Bill Smith and Sam were A1 foremast-men; and while there was a sheet to haul taut, a sail to furl, or a bit of deck to holy-stone, I was ready to take my turn; but it was all the same, and I've seen the men bullied till they've gone scowling down below, and more than once I've said to Sam: "There'll be foul weather yet, my lad, afore we get this voyage to an end." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ STORY TWO, CHAPTER FOUR.