Oh, sailor boy, sailor boy, 'neath the wild billow, Thy grave is yawnin' and waitin' for thee. He sang this during the worst of the teething period, and, later, when the junior partner wrestled with the whooping cough. You could always tell the state of the baby's health by the Captain's choice of songs. Meanwhile Dusenberry grew and prospered. He learned to walk and to talk, after his own peculiar fashion, and, at the mature age of two years and six months, formally shipped as first mate aboard his father's dory. His duties in this responsible position were to sit in the stern, securely fastened by a strap, while the Captain and his two assistants rowed out over the bar to haul the nets of the deep water fish weir. The first mate gave the orders, “All hands on deck! 'Tand by to det ship under way!” There was no “sogerin'” aboard the Hiram Junior--that was the dory's name--while the first officer had command. Captain Hiram, always ready to talk of the wonderful baby, told the depot master of the youngster's latest achievement, which was to get the cover off the butter firkin in the pantry and cover himself with butter from head to heel. “Ho, ho, ho!” he roared, delightedly, “when Sophrony caught him at it, what do you s'pose he said? Said he was playin' he was a slice of bread and was spreadin' himself. Haw! haw!” Captain Sol laughed in sympathy. “But he didn't mean no harm by it,” explained the proud father. “He's got the tenderest little heart in the world. When he found his ma felt bad he bust out cryin' and said he'd scrape it all off again and when it come prayer time he'd tell God who did it, so He'd know 'twa'n't mother that wasted the nice butter. What do you think of that?” “No use talkin', Hiram,” said the depot master, “that's the kind of boy to have.” “You bet you! Hello! here's the train. On time, for a wonder. See you later, Sol. You take my advice, get married and have a boy of your own. Nothin' like one for solid comfort.” The train was coming and they went out to meet it. The only passenger to alight was Mr. Barzilla Wingate, whose arrival had been foretold by Bailey Stitt the previous evening. Barzilla was part owner of a good-sized summer hotel at Wellmouth Neck. He and the depot master were old friends. After the train had gone Wingate and Captain Sol entered the station together. The Captain had insisted that his friend come home with him to breakfast, instead of going to the hotel. After some persuasion Barzilla agreed. So they sat down to await Issy's arrival. The depot master could not leave the station until the “assistant” arrived. “Well, Barzilla,” asked Captain Sol, “what's the newest craze over to the hotel?” “The newest,” said Wingate, with a grin, “is automobiles.” “Automobiles? Why, I thought 'twas baseball.”