There had not chanced to be any special cause for quitting snug quarters on board the steamer. The _Danic_ had made a splendid voyage. Not once had the “fiddles” appeared on the dining-table to the accompaniment of smashing crockery in the steward’s pantry. Day after day the passengers had been able to sit out on their deck chairs enjoying the sunshine, the fresh breeze and the sparkling sea, through which for hours together the tireless dolphins swam, emulous of the vessel’s voyant speed. Two days out they had passed close by a whale, who cheerily spouted farewell as they speeded by. Ronny looked on with grave eyes. He had often heard of a whale, but never before seen one. “Will Jonah come out by and by?” he asked Jacynth, his constant companion, who held him standing on the rail. “No, I think not,” Jacynth answered gravely. “Jonah, you remember, did not find the quarters so comfortable that he was likely ever to seek them again of his own free will. Residence in a whale, however temporary, is an experience that satisfies an ordinary man for a lifetime. The whale is only spouting, getting rid of superfluous water taken in from the great depths.” “Well,” said Ronny, his quick sympathies moved in another direction, “he must get very thirsty if he does that often.” Ronny had thriven wondrously on the broad Atlantic, which had in no sense proved a disappointment to him. He was a prime favorite with all on board, the pet of the sailors, more particularly of the bos’n, whose whistle he was sometimes privileged to sound. Next to Jacynth he was fonder of the bos’n than anyone else, even than of his father, whose mood was less attuned to that of the light-hearted, healthy lad whom the stewards did their best to endow with dyspepsia by surreptitiously feeding him at unlawful hours with spoil from the dessert. He would sit by the hour on a coil of ropes, his big eyes fixed intently on the brown-visaged bos’n, who told him stirring tales (probably not all true) of seafaring life. At first he had full run of the ship, and availed himself of the privilege. “Father,” he said, running breathlessly up to Lord Francis one morning when they were in mid-Atlantic, “what do you think? I’ve seen Mrs. Clutterbuck.” The little fellow, who in ordinary circumstances seemed to know no fear, trembled in every limb, and as far as was possible with sun and wind tanned face was pitifully pale. “Where?” asked Lord Francis with a sign of equal perturbation. “Forrard,” said Ronny, who had not in vain sat with the bos’n, and never now spoke of going downstairs when he should say going below. “I was standing by the rail at the end of the hurricane deck looking at the passengers playing cards on the steerage deck, when she came along. She beckoned to me to go down to her, but I turned and bolted.” “Was she by herself?” “No, there were a lot of people around. She wasn’t speaking to anyone nor anyone to her.” “Are you sure it was her?”