made a second and third attempt, but in vain. At last the vessel broke up, as it were, all at once--there was one loud cry, and all was still, except the roaring and breaking waves which buried them. It wasn't a scene to make us very lively, Tom: we hoisted the sail, and ran on to the beach in silence. I took the child in my arms--it had been snatched out of its warm bed, poor thing, and had nothing on but a calico night gown. I took it up to the cottage, which was then Maddox's (I bought it afterwards of the widow with the money I made a-privateering), and I gave it in charge to Mrs Maddox. I did intend to have sent it to the workhouse, or something of that sort; but Mrs Maddox took a fancy to it, and so did I, and so I thought I would take care of it, and I christened it by the name of Betsy Godwin." "You have no idea who she may be?" "Not a half one: her cotton gown and cap told nothing; the vessel was Dutch, that's all I know. She may be the child of the Stadtholder or the child of the ship's cook. What's the matter?" "But did you notice any marks upon her person by which she might be reclaimed?" "Not I. I only axed Mrs Maddox whether it were a boy or a girl." "How old was she then?" "Well, how can I tell? that's not in my way; but the knowing ones in these matters said that she must be about eighteen months old, so we have taken that for a _departure_ as to her age. I love her now as if she were my own child, and so will you, Tom, like, a sister, when you know her. She calls me her father, and you may do the same, Tom, if you like, for I will be as good as a father to you, if you are as good a boy as you now seem to be. I like to be called father, somehow or another-- it sounds pleasant to my ears. But come in now, I think you have compassed the compass, so you must learn something else. "There is another way, Tom," said Bramble, as he seated himself in his large chair, "in which a smart 'prentice may be useful to his master, and it is of quite as much importance as the compass, which is in heaving the lead. You see, Tom, the exact soundings being known will often enable a pilot to run over the tail of a bank and save a tide; that is, when he knows that he can trust the man in the chains. Some seamen are very particular in giving exact soundings, but all are not; they care more for the song than they do for anything else, and though the song is very musical, yet it won't get a ship off when she's on shore. Now, two-thirds of the seamen who are sent in the chains will not give the soundings within half a fathom, and, moreover, they do not give them quick enough for the pilot in many cases; if, therefore, you learn to heave the lead well, be correct in your soundings and quick in giving them, you will become of great use to me. You understand, don't you?" "Yes," replied I. "Well, go up into my room, and hanging on the nail behind the door you will see a lead-line--bring it me down here."