“Yes, I am proud of it myself; but it is more than I deserve, Perry, as I did not risk my life, you know, for I could have swam back to the shore if I found I could not have reached the yacht, and I got my reward in my appointment here; but here is a card,” and Mark read aloud: “Since your entrance to the Naval Academy my eye has been upon you, my young friend, and I congratulate you upon your success, and beg your acceptance of the accompanying as a token of my appreciation of the debt of gratitude I owe you.” “Most neatly expressed, Merrill; but now look here,” and Perry took from the box a superb, gold-mounted sea-glass. “How beautiful!” exclaimed Mark, as he had just put his watch and chain in place. “The commodore has got his eye on you, too, Merrill,” said Perry, with a laugh, as he pointed to what was engraved on the glasses: “PRESENTED AS A TRIBUTE TO TRUE COURAGE TO CADET MIDSHIPMAN MARK MERRILL, FROM DAVID LUCIEN, COMMODORE U. S. NAVY.” Mark Merrill was deeply moved by these expressions of gratitude and good will from such men as were the donors of the magnificent gifts to him. He walked to the window of his room, glass in hand, and stood gazing listlessly out upon the scene before him. It was no dream, as he had often feared, for before him was the ocular demonstration of the fact that he was a naval cadet in the service of his country. His thoughts went back to little more than a year, when in his little surf-skiff he was carrying the mail through sunshine and storm along the rugged coast. Just then Scott Clemmons passed before him, and he recalled the change since that meeting at B----, when his toy ship had been broken. Then Clemmons, the son of a rich man, coming of a family of aristocrats, had seemed to tower far above him. But to-day how different, for Clemmons was his vanquished rival. Then he was, as his rival had so often said, a poor fisher lad, unknown to all except the few who admired his pluck as a young sailor. Now he stood here a victor, honored by his commanders and comrades, the recipient of costly gifts from the head of the navy, and one high in rank. Then, little over a year before he was poor, his mother with scarcely the money to buy medicine, and now she had sent him money and had plenty remaining--what seemed a small fortune to her and to him, for he was economical, though not mean, and not a dollar of his pay had he squandered. The past was behind him, the future opened brightly before him. Three more years[1] and he would win his fight for fame, if all went well. He had vowed to win, and that vow must be kept, come what might, against all odds. “Only death shall conquer me!” broke sternly from his lips, as the midshipman finished his reverie and turned again toward his roommate, whose very presence he had forgotten. FOOTNOTE: [1] Before the making of the term six years at the Naval Academy. The AUTHOR. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FIRST CRUISE.