Balmy, bright, and beautiful broke the succeeding morning. Every passenger as he came on deck looked astern to see what had become of the Champion. She still kept her usual distance, dogging the Pontiac with the persistency of a fate. Captain Crane said nothing, but it was noticeable that he puffed away at his cigar with increased vigor. Mr. Vance encountered the Berwicks once more on the hurricane deck and interchanged greetings. Little Clara recognized her friend of the day before, and, jumping from Hattie’s lap, ran and pulled his coat, looking up in his face, and pouting her lips for a kiss. “I fancy I see two marked traits in your little girl, already,” said Vance to the mother, after he had saluted the child; “she is strong in the affections, and has a will-power that shows itself in self-control.” “You are right,” replied the mother; “I have known her to bite her lips till the blood came, in her effort to keep from crying.” “Such is her individuality,” continued Vance. “I doubt if circumstances of education could do much to misshape her moral being.” “Ah! that is a fearful consideration,” said the lady; “we cannot say how far the best of us would have been perverted if our early training had been unpropitious.” “I knew your father, Mrs. Berwick. He found me, a stranger stricken down by fever, forsaken and untended, in a miserable shanty called a tavern, in Southern Illinois, in the sickly season. He devoted himself to me till I was convalescent. I shall never forget his kindness. Will you allow mg to look at that little seal on your watch-chain? It ought to bear the letters ‘W. C. to R. A.’ Thank you. Yes, there they are! I sent him the seal as a memento. The cutting is my own.” “I shall regard it with a new interest,” said Mrs. Berwick, as she took it back. Mr. Onslow here appeared and bade the party good morning. “I feel that I am among friends,” said Vance. “I last night promised Mr. Onslow a story. Did you ever hear of the redoubtable Gashface, Mr. Berwick?” “Yes, and I warn you, sir, that I am quite enough of an Abolitionist to hold his memory in a sort of respect.” “Bold words to utter on the Southern Mississippi! But do not be under concern: I myself am Gashface. Yes. The report of his being killed is a lie. Are you in a mood to hear his story, Mrs. Berwick?” “I shall esteem it a privilege, sir.” “The last time I told it was to your father. Be seated, and try and be as patient as he was in listening.” The party arranged themselves in chairs; and Mr. Vance was about to take up his parable, when the figure of Colonel Delancy Hyde was seen emerging from the stairs leading from the lower deck. “Hah! Mr. Vance, I’m yourn,” exclaimed the Colonel, with effusion. “Been lookin’ fur yer all over the boat. Introduce yer friends ter me.” Vance took from his pocket the Colonel’s card, and read aloud the contents of it.