The officer went to see how his watch were getting on with their job of cleaning the paint-work on the deck-houses, and found that buckets of water, swabs, and bath-bricks, were being used to such purpose that the white paint was rapidly assuming the appearance of new-fallen snow. Then there was a section of wire cable to be spliced, and other work to be seen to. Thus the afternoon passed, and Dick’s talk about the signals was banished from the second mate’s mind by the various duties of the hour. CHAPTER II. It was a fine evening. The full moon had risen out of the ocean in matchless splendor, and was rapidly changing its blood-red hues for more silvery tints, as it soared into the cloudless sky. The captain and passengers were on the quarter-deck, while Mr. Freeman hung over the rail with the comfortable assurance that the bark was making a better run in the second dog-watch than she had in the first, when the mate had been in charge. “I told you, Miss Blake, I should get a good breeze in my watch, and you see I’m as good as my word.” “So I perceive; and now that you have it, see that it doesn’t fail us before morning. Otherwise I shall think your fine breeze all the result of luck. How pleasant it is to hear the water gurgling around the ship.” [Picture: “The full moon had risen in matchless splendor”] Eight bells struck, and the dog-watch was over. The wheel and lookout were relieved, and Freeman went below, while Carl Bohlman came on duty to stand the first watch, which lasted until midnight. “What are you thinking of, Aunt? For ten minutes you have not spoken a word.” “The beauty of the night has cast a spell over me, Laura, and I was thinking of a favorite poem of mine. I never realized the significance of the first stanza more than on this evening, when we are out on the great ocean with every object bathed in white light. “‘The dews of summer night did fall, The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby.’” “Excellent, my dear madam,” said Captain Maxwell. “You have a fine poetic instinct.” “The oaks that grew around Amy Robsart’s luxurious prison are replaced here by the bark’s masts and sails, captain, but the effect is not less beautiful.” “A fine conception, Mrs. Evans, but we must remember that it is not summer in these latitudes, even though the dew is gathering, and you may take cold sitting there. Will you take my arm?” “With pleasure, captain.” They had paced the deck for some minutes, and the widow was relating some story that seemed greatly to amuse the captain, when the latter stopped suddenly, dropped on one knee, and stared at one of the deadlights’ near his feet. “Good heavens! How you startled me, captain. Robinson Crusoe couldn’t have been more astonished when he saw the footprint in the sand, than you seem to be. What is it?”