“Yes, sir; especially that Christian Anderson, in the mate’s watch, that claimed to be able to steer and then couldn’t box the compass to save his life.” The captain made no answer, and the steward withdrew. “George! it’s not a bad idea,” mused Pitkin. “It would do those three ‘able seamen’ good to meet the Old Man of the Seas, I honestly believe.” The more thought he gave the matter, the better he liked it; and by breakfast time, when the captain, his sister, and the mate gathered about the table, the former had arranged in his mind the principal details of the ceremonies which he decided should take place that morning. Miss Pitkin did not receive the narration of her brother’s plans with the approval he had expected; in fact, she was in a decidedly unpleasant frame of mind. “Why, Rosy, you seem out of sorts this morning. I thought you’d be pleased to hear that Neptune was coming aboard.” “Neptune, indeed! The Flying Dutchman will be the next thing on the programme, I suppose. And as for being out of sorts—Charles Pitkin, are you aware that this is the first morning for two weeks that you have not resembled a thundercloud?” “Perhaps; but I’ve had reason to look black. Now the Doldrums are done with, I’m as merry as a lark, and you ought to be, too.” “You are mistaken. That beast of a cat has killed my poor canary.” Miss Rose said this in a tone of mingled anger and grief, looking hard at her coffee-cup meanwhile. She seldom indulged in the feminine weakness of tears, or a few would doubtless have been shed now as a tribute to the departed canary. “Pshaw! that’s too bad, Rose,” said the captain, sympathetically. “Shall we kill the cat? I detest the stealthy, cold-blooded creatures, and this one does nothing but lie around in the sun all day instead of catching rats.” “No, Charles, we will not do that. I came near throwing her overboard myself, but I suppose the creature was only following her instincts. I must try and bear it.” Miss Pitkin had celebrated some forty birthdays, but the years had touched her lightly, and her charms, though mature, were not inconsiderable. A plump, well-rounded figure, fresh complexion, black eyes and hair, combined with regular features, made an attractive whole, the one serious blemish of which was an habitual expression of firmness and decision which was so strong as to be almost masculine. She had four brothers, all younger than herself, and on the early death of their father and mother, Rose assumed the cares of housekeeping and the bringing up of the younger children. Thus she had come to be looked up to by her brothers, and regarded rather in the light of a parent than as a sister. As they left the table she said: “I am going to overhaul the store-room. It needs to be done, and will keep me from thinking of poor Goldie.” “But you’ll return to the deck when Neptune comes aboard?”