“I suppose you know that we lost two men and that another was badly injured?” I answered, quickly, and then immediately felt what a fool I was to throw such a shadow over the young girl’s spirits. “Why, no, indeed, I knew nothing of the kind,” she answered, and her laugh was gone, and her face grew pale. “Where is the injured man?” “In the fo’castle,” I answered, and, as I did so, the skipper gave me a warning frown. “Uncle David, I want you to let me go with Mr. Gore to see the poor man,” she said, quietly. “I had no idea anything so dreadful happened.” The old skipper scowled at me and grunted out some reply, and I could see that he was anything but pleased at my reference to the accident. However, I had no sooner gone on deck, after breakfast, than Miss Waters came to me and asked me to take her forward. The ship was running along easily under t’gallantsails, and the main-deck was safe enough, so, offering my arm for support, we started. I noticed Brown hurrying along the port gangway and saw him enter the fo’castle. Then, when we arrived, he came out and answered my look by telling Miss Waters that she might enter. It was no imagination on my part when I noticed the young girl shrink at the sight of dirty, wet clothes and the none too clean floor as we entered. She still held to my arm, and we walked up to the form of a man lying in one of the bunks. The third mate sprang quickly in front of us and pointed to a bunk farther forward, just as I was about to address a corpse. The girl saw my quick movement as I turned my gaze in the right direction, and, although only the back of the dead man’s head was visible, she guessed the mistake I had made, for she trembled violently. She went up to the wounded sailor, who stared at her in stupid wonder. Then she asked him how he felt, and put her soft little hand on his face and tried to cheer him up. The poor fellow appeared almost frightened at this, and muttered some nonsense about an angel. But he was a foul-looking dago of the lowest class, and the girl could not understand him. Finally, after promising to make him some gruel, she went on deck again, much to my relief. I could not help admiring the feeling of sympathy she showed for the man, but I felt that the fo’castle of a ship was not the place for a girl to enter, even attended as she was. When we went on deck, she drew a long breath and appeared thoughtful for some moments. Finally she said: “Are all forecastles on ships like that?” “Yes,” I answered, “only most of them are a good deal dirtier and worse ventilated. When I first went to sea, the fo’castle was always below, ’tween decks, and not a big, airy room, with windows in it, like the one we’ve just left. I remember, on the old clipper _Mohawk_, we would have thought a fo’castle like this one equal to the captain’s cabin.”