“Mrs. Evans certainly learned a great deal during the few voyages she made with her husband, and with your assistance, Miss Blake, there is no telling what you might not be able to accomplish. However, both Mr. Bohlman and I are not liable to fall overboard, so you will probably have no chance to distinguish yourselves as navigators.” Though considerably past sixty, and with a head of snowy white hair, no one ever thought of Captain Maxwell as elderly. His dark eyes still shown with the fire of thirty, and every motion of the erect, military figure was surprisingly quick and agile. In ordinary conversation, his words were spoken with an effective deliberation that is none too common now-a-days, while a fine courtly air—“old fashioned” some people called it—lent additional dignity to his presence. Mrs. Evans appeared at this moment emerging from the companionway, and Captain Maxwell hastened to place a chair for the widow of his old friend. “Isn’t it a beautiful day, Captain?” the lady exclaimed. “I cannot recall a more delightful morning.” “I agree with you, madam; it certainly is a fine day, although, as your niece says, a trifle cool perhaps.” “Possibly. But we are approaching the Line, Laura, and it will become warmer as the bark sails north. For my part, I think this bracing air delightful, and have not regretted returning to Boston in this manner rather than by steamer to San Francisco. It reminds me of the two voyages I made with the late Captain Evans.” The widow’s good-natured face beamed with amiability and placid content. She was a comely matron, and though not endowed with a great amount of intellect, its absence was in a measure supplied by the charms of a thoroughly feminine and womanly nature. The ladies had been visiting relatives in Sydney, and had expected to return to America by the Oceanic Liner _Monowai_. Happening to meet Captain Maxwell on the street one day, he had jokingly proposed that they take passage with him to Boston. Mrs. Evans had known him well in past years, and she instantly regarded the plan with favor. Her niece, however, knew no more of sailing vessels than does the average landsman, who judges all craft of this description by the coasting schooners which he has casually noticed, and had a vague idea that it was flying in the face of Providence to go anywhere in one. Yielding to the joint entreaties of her aunt and Captain Maxwell, and considerably reassured by a view of the _Western Belle_, she at length consented, and had so far enjoyed the novelty of the trip exceedingly. “Neither do I regret it, Aunt,” she said, “although it would be agreeable to know about what time we may expect to reach Boston. That is the one drawback to going anywhere on a sailing vessel—you can’t tell how long the voyage may last.”