"Oh, Violet," cried another young lady, "you know you were dreadfully frightened that night in Tobermory bay, when the equinoctial gales caught us, and the men were tramping overhead all night long." "I should be more frightened down here," was the retort, "because if we were driven ashore I should be choked first and drowned afterward. Fancy going out of the world with a taste of chalk in your mouth." "Well, at this moment the fierce discussion was stopped by the arrival of the train at Portsmouth; but here a very singular incident occurred. Violet was the first to step out on to the platform. "You have a tramway car that goes down to the pier, have you not?" she asked of the guard. "Ain't going to-day, miss," was the answer. "Boats can't come in to Southsea--the sea is very high. You'll have to go to Portsea, miss." Now, what was this man's amazement on seeing this young lady suddenly burst out laughing as she turned and looked into the carriage. "Did you hear that?" she cried. "The Solent is raging! They can't come near Southsea! Don't you think, Mrs. Warrener, that it will be very dangerous to go to Portsea?" "I'll tell you what it is," said Mrs. Warrener with a malicious smile, "if a certain young lady I know were to be ill in crossing, she would be a good deal more civil to her native country when she reached the other side." But in good truth, when they got down to Portsea there was a pretty stiff breeze blowing; and the walk out on the long pier was not a little trying to an invalid who had but lately recovered the use of his limbs. The small steamer, too, was tossing about considerably at her moorings; and Violet pretended to be greatly alarmed because she did not see half-a-dozen lifeboats on board. Then the word was given; the cables thrown off; and presently the tiny steamer was running out to the windy and gray-green sea, the waves of which not unfrequently sent a shower of spray across her decks. The small party of voyagers crouched behind the funnel, and were well out of the water's way. "Look there now," cried Mr. Drummond, suddenly pointing to a large bird that was flying by, high up in the air, about a quarter of a mile off--"do you see that? Do you know what that is? That is a wild goose, a gray lag, that has been driven in by bad weather; _now_ can you say we have no waves, and winds, and sea in the south?" Miss Violet was not daunted. "Perhaps it is a goose," she said coolly. "I never saw but one flying--- you remember you shot it. What farm-yard has this one left?" "Oh, for shame, Violet," Mrs. Warrener called out, "to rake up old stories!"