"I say, youngster, it's a first-rate article. You meant a swap, now; own up. What did you mean to ask me for it, if I'd been in the humor?" "There is only one thing I should like to ask of you," began Blair. "Ha, ha! I knew you meant a swap," said Brimstone. "There's no harm in making a clean breast of it." "I wanted to ask you not to swear those horrible oaths. I tremble lest God, whose great name you blaspheme, should smite you dead with those curses on your lips," said Blair earnestly. Brimstone had the long blade of the knife open. He gave an angry thrust at Blair, which the lad skilfully avoided, but without a shadow of fear in his fine face. "None of that talk," exclaimed Brimstone. "We say _what_ we please and _when_ we please on board the Molly. Mum's the right word for you. We want no parson just out of petticoats here." Blair walked quietly away. His precious knife was gone, and he had perhaps but irritated and made more unfriendly one of the very men whom he so longed to influence for good. He had left himself without any defensive weapon among men who reckoned human life as of trifling value. Yet Blair was not discouraged. He had made a beginning; and though roughly received, it was an effort put forth in a Christian spirit, and could not be lost. With a petition in his heart for the rough sailor he had just quitted, Blair went to a quiet part of the ship to write a few lines to his mother. It seemed to him it would be a comfort to fancy himself in communication with her, though the letter might never fall under her dear eyes. Yet that was not impossible. There were letters waiting already on board, until they could be sent by some homeward-bound craft. The little mail-bag might find a timely and trusty bearer. Blair had nearly filled the sheet before him, unconscious of any observers. The vessel lay becalmed, scarcely moving on the quiet waters, and the men had been stretched lazily about, or leisurely mending sails, or washing their clothing in true sailors' fashion. Drawn on by Brimstone's beckoning finger, a group had silently gathered round Blair, ready for any wild frolic at the boy's expense which their summoner might have in his unscrupulous brain. Just as Blair put the signature to his letter, the paper was snatched from his hand by some one from behind. "Now hear, worshipful shipmates," said Brimstone, making as if he would read the letter aloud. "You don't know your alphabet," said Derry Duck contemptuously. "I am the scholard for you; but I choose to let the writer do his own reading. Here, Mum, let us have the benefit of your long-tailed letter in plain English, stops put in all right." Blair's eyes flashed for a moment, but the next he put out his hand for the letter, and said pleasantly, "Do you really want to know how a Yankee boy writes home to his mother? Well, then, I'll read every word out, just as it is written." [Illustration:] The tones of Blair's voice were clear and firm as he read as follows: