Then they were all on deck, a chair was brought for the honored guest, and Mitchell introduced his sailing-master who had been drawn to gaze upon the rather novel manner in which she had been brought aboard. “I want Miss Watkins to have the sail of her life, Renfew,” said Mitchell. “We aren’t coming back until night.” “We’ll have sail enough sure, sir,” said Renfew, touching his cap, and then he walked away and the work of starting off began. A tug had been engaged to tow them out into the breeze and Jack thought it would be nice to show Aunt Mary around while they were being meandered through coal barges, etc. They went below and Aunt Mary saw everything with a most flattering interest. “I d’n know but what I’d enjoy a little yacht of my own,” she said to Mitchell. “I think it’s so amusin’ the way everythin’ turns over into suthin’ else. I suppose Joshua could learn to sail me—I wouldn’t want to trust no new man, I know.” “Why, of course,” said Jack, “and we could all come and visit you, Aunt Mary.” Aunt Mary smiled hospitably. “I’d be glad to see you all any day,” she said cordially; “and I shall have a hole in the bottom of the boat for people to go in and out of, and a nice staircase down to it, so you needn’t mind the notion of how you’ll get on and off.” They all laughed and continued the tour below and Aunt Mary grew more and more enthusiastic for quite a while. She liked the kitchen and she liked the dining-room. She thought the arrangement for keeping the table level most ingenious. Mitchell took her into the main cabin and told her that that was hers for the day. On the dresser was a photograph of the “Lady Belle” framed in silver, which the young host presented to his guest as a souvenir of the “voyage.” Aunt Mary’s pleasure was at its height. Oh, the pity of Fate which makes the apex of everything so very limited as to standing room! Three minutes after the presentation and acceptation of the photograph Aunt Mary’s glance became suddenly vague, and then especially piercing. “What makes this up and down feeling?” she asked Mitchell. “What up and down feeling?” he asked, secure in the good conscience and pure living of an oatmeal breakfast. “I don’t feel up and down.” “I do,” said Aunt Mary abruptly; “I want to be somewhere else.” “You want to be on deck,” said Burnett, suddenly emerging from somewhere; “I know the symptoms. I always have ’em. Come on. And when we get up there, I’ll collar Jack for urging those six last griddle cakes on me this morning.” “I ain’t sure I want to be on deck,” said Aunt Mary; “dear me—I feel as if I wasn’t sure of anythin’.” “What did I tell you?” said Burnett to Mitchell; “it’s blowing fresh and neither she nor I ought to have come. You know me when it blows.” “Shut up,” said Mitchell, hurrying Aunt Mary up the companion-way and shoving her into one chair and her feet into another; “there, Miss Watkins, you’re all right now, aren’t you?”