Dear Brother 'Enery,--This comes opin' to find you well as it leaves me at Stratford. M. sends her love, an' you will be pleased to 'ear she grows beautifuller every day an' in character likewise. It do seem to me this world is a better place for containin' of her; an' a man ought to be 'appy, dear 'Enery, when you can call 'er mine--" "That don't seem right to me some'ow," commented Tilda. Sam scratched his head. "What's wrong with it?" "'Pears to me it ought to be 'yours'--'When you can call her yours.'" "I don't like that neither, not altogether. S'pose we scratch it out an' say, 'A man ought to be 'appy when 'e can call 'er 'isn'? That what schoolmaster calls the third person." "There didn' ought to be no third person about it," said Tilda severely; "on'y 'Enery an' 'er. Well, go on." "I can't. That's so far as I've written up to the present. It's a rough copy, you understand; an' at Stratford I allow to write it out fair an' post it." Tilda took a turn at considering. "The further I go on this v'yage," she announced,--"w'ich, per'aps, 'twould be truthfuller to say the longer it takes--the more I seems to get mixed up in other folks' business. But you've done me a good turn, Sam Bossom; an' you've been open with me; an' I reckon I got to keep you straight in this 'ere. There! put up yer verses while I sit an' think it out." "You don't like 'em?" Sam was evidently dashed. "If on'y I 'ad Bill 'ere--" "Ha, yes: _'im!_ '_E_'d put a boiler inside 'em, no doubt; an' a donkey-engin', an'--" "What'yer talkin' about? . . . Oh, yer verses! Bless the man, I wasn' thinkin' of yer verses. I was wantin' Bill 'ere, to advise somethin' practical. Lor' sake! Look at Arthur Miles there, the way 'e's leanin' overboard! The child'll drown' isself, nex' news!" She rose up and ran to prevent the disaster. "'Pears to me there's a deal o' motherin' to be done aboard this boat. Trouble aft, an' trouble forrard--" She was hurrying aft when Mr. Mortimer intercepted her amidships. He held a book in one hand, and two slips of paper in the other. "Child," he asked, "could you learn a part?--a very small part?" "'Course I could," answered Tilda promptly; "but I ain't goin' to play it, an' don't yer make any mistake. 'Ere, let me get to Arthur Miles before 'e tumbles overboard." She darted aft and dragged the boy back by his collar. "What d'yer mean by it, givin' folks a shock like that?" she demanded. "I was looking at the pictures," he explained, and showed her. The _Success to Commerce_ bore on her stern panels two gaily painted landscapes, the one of Warwick Castle, the other of ruined Kenilworth. Tilda leaned over the side and saw them mirrored in the still water. "And then," the boy pursued, "down below the pictures I saw a great ship lying in the seaweed with guns and drowned men on the deck and the fishes swimming over them. Deep in the ship a bell was tolling--"