The negro had taken up a white cloth, and was in the act of throwing it over the basket, when a small book, with golden clasps, suddenly caught her eye; rolling it quickly in a soft, rich veil, she placed it between the children, and her task was done. It was but the work of a moment, to fasten on the cloth-covering with a stout string; then, with one strong effort, Daph stooped, took the basket on her head, and went forth from the door with as stately a step as if she wore a crown. II. The “Martha Jane.” There was the bustle of departure, on board a Yankee schooner, which some hope of gain had brought to the southern island, named in our last chapter. The fresh and favorable breeze hurried the preparations of the sailors, as they moved about full of glad thoughts of return to their distant home. The boat, which had been sent ashore for some needful supplies, was fast approaching the vessel, and in it, among the rough tars, was Daph, her precious basket at her side, and her bright eyes passing from face to face, with an eager, wistful glance, that seemed trying to read the secrets of each heart. “Here! go-a-head, woman! I’ll hand up your chickens;” said one of the sailors, as they reached the anchored schooner. “I keeps my chickens to myself,” said Daph, as she placed the basket on her head, and went up the side of the vessel, as steadily and securely as the oldest tar of all. As soon as she set her foot on deck, the sailors thronged around her, offering to take her chickens from her, at her own price, and passing their rough jokes on her stout figure and shining black face. One young sailor, bolder than the rest, laid his hand on the basket, and had well-nigh torn away its cover. The joke might have proved a dangerous one for him. A blow from Daph’s strong arm sent him staggering backwards, and in another moment, the negress had seized an oar, and was brandishing it round her head, threatening with destruction any one who should dare to touch her property, and declaring that with the captain, and with him alone, would she treat for the chickens, about which so much had been said. “Cap’in,” said she, as a tall, firmly-knit man drew near the scene of the disturbance; “Cap’in, it’s you, sah, I wants to speak wid, and just you by yourself, away from these fellows, who don’t know how to treat a ’spectable darkie, who belongs to the greatest gentleman in the island. Let me see you in your little cubby there, and if you have an heart in you, we’ll make a bargain.” There was something so earnest in the woman’s manner, that Captain Jones at once consented to her odd request, smiling at himself as he did so.