The day that I was to go on board, I requested Miss Culpepper to give me a sheet of paper, that I might write to my mother; she supplied me very readily, saying, "You had better let me see if you make any mistake in your spelling before the letter goes; your mamma will be so pleased if you write your letter properly." She then went down into the kitchen to give some orders. As I had not the slightest intention that she should read what I wrote, and resolved to have it in the post before she came up again, I was very concise in my epistle, which was as follows:-- "Dear Mother:--I have found it all out--I am the son of Captain Delmar, and everyone here knows what you have kept a secret from me. I go on board to-day. "Yours truly, P. KEENE." This was very short, and, it must be admitted, direct to the point. I could not perhaps have written one which was so calculated to give my mother uneasiness. As soon as it was finished, I folded it up, and lighted a taper to seal it. Old Mrs Culpepper, who was in the room, croaked out, "No, no; you must show it to Medea." But I paid no attention to her, and having sealed my letter, put on my hat, and walked out to the post-office. I dropped it into the box, and, on returning, found Mr Culpepper coming home, accompanied by Bob Cross, the captain's coxswain, and two of the boat's crew. As I presumed, they were sent for me; I joined them immediately, and was kindly greeted by Bob Cross, who said:-- "Well, Mr Keene, are you all ready for shipping? We've come for your traps." "All ready," replied I, "and very glad to go, for I'm tired of staying on shore doing nothing." We were soon at the house; the seamen carried away my chest and bedding, while Bob Cross remained a little while, that I might pay my farewell to the ladies. The ceremony was not attended with much regret on either side. Miss Culpepper could not help asking me why I did not show her my letter, and I replied, that there were secrets in it, which answer did not at all add to her good temper; our adieus were, therefore, anything but affectionate, and before the men with my effects were a hundred yards in advance, Bob Cross and I were at their heels. "Well, Master Keene," said Bob, as we wended our way across South Sea Common, "how do you like the purser's ladies?" "Not at all," replied I; "they have done nothing but try to pump me the whole time I have been there; but they did not make much of it." "Women will be curious, Master Keene--pray what did they try to pump about?" I hardly knew how to reply, and I hesitated. I felt a strong inclination towards Bob Cross, and I had before reflected whether I should make him my confidant; still, I was undecided and made no reply, when Bob Cross answered for me:--