'They are not yachtsmen; they are not fresh-watermen. I, too, have eyes in my head, and I'll not condemn Glew off-hand for being what the Americans call a "hard case,"' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'They are rough fellows, got out of low sailors' boarding-houses. I know the breed--the right sort of men for a jaunt of this kind--and I'm very well satisfied with them. But they have the look of growlers, and the man Jones, who should be the most trustworthy of the lot, has the very best genius for putting on a surly, dangerous face, and posturing in the mutineer style when hotly called to of any sea-dog that I can recall. So, Vi, I'm not for interfering with the duties of the captain.' He smoked, and his little eyes dwelt upon the face of the beautiful moon. 'If the sea,' said he musingly, 'were a silver shield it could not flash more brightly. How mysterious does the moon make the world of waters! They speak of the awe bred of darkness--the awe, the uncertainty--yes, I have known it; but how much more must this lighted ocean stir one's spiritual pulses than if it were a bed of darkness!' 'You are certainly better,' said Miss Violet; 'you are seldom poetical at home.' 'No man who has been to sea can help being a poet,' said the old gentleman complacently, smoothing his beard. 'He beholds many strange appearances; he dreams strangely. Mysterious fancies thicken upon the drowsy vision of his lonely midnight look-out, and with him _then_ it is as the great poet sublimely sings: '"But shapes that come not at an earthly call, Will not depart when mortal voices bid; Lords of the visionary eye, whose lid, Once raised, remains aghast, and will not fall."' He relighted his pipe, and smiled at the moon, and seemed very well pleased with the acuteness of his memory. 'Those are noble lines,' said the girl. 'They are Wordsworth's. Ach! What delight that man has given me.' 'How much pleasanter it is,' said Miss Violet, 'on a glorious night like this to talk of poetry, and the visionary shapes of the sea, than of sailors' beef and pork!' 'You would not think so if you had been stuck here for ten days on a raft.' 'Well,' exclaimed the girl, heaving a sigh, 'the Equator is not very far off now, and then we shall turn and go home.' 'I hope that our forefoot will cut the Line by the 25th,' answered Mr. Vanderholt. 'We shall be home in February, brown, and in the best of spirits.' 'And George will have started--will be coming.'