Herein is the radical defect of our national educational system. We stuff our children's brains with facts more or less valuable, many of no importance whatever――the height of Chimborazo, the number of gallons of water rolled down by the Mississippi, the population of Timbuctoo, but make no attempt to cultivate observation, and develop the reasoning powers. A Scots child's mind is made to digest what is put into it, that of an English child only to gorge facts. Therefore, in the race of life, he is left behind; he lies his length sleeping off his surfeit, whilst the Scotsman steps into and walks off in his shoes. Jane was uneducated; a woman of strong feelings and few ideas, who was accustomed to be governed by one thought at a time. Now her contracted mind was in a turmoil with the crowding in of many and diverse thoughts――the reappearance of her husband or betrayer, whichever he was; the wrong done to her by the captain, as shown by Olver Dench; the peril of life in which her child had been placed; the discovery of Rattenbury's hoarded gains; the stroke that had cast him speechless and powerless before her, at the moment of discovery; all these matters mingled and entangled themselves in her mind inextricably. She strove hard to fix her attention on one subject only, but at once another started up to claim consideration. As she thus sat, the door opened and the ferryman entered. 'Hey, Jane! So the captain is down. Just heard the tidings from his son. How came that about? Had a brush with the sharks? They have been about in the night, I hear. Where is he?' Jane pointed, and Olver went to the bedside, called to the sick man, and said, 'How came this about, captain? I saw Jack, but he was in such a vast hurry he could tell me no particulars, so I came up to learn them myself, and to see if I could be helpful. Don't be down-hearted. You will pull through. How came you hurt? A knock over the head?' The stricken man opened his eyes. 'Come, give an old mate a word,' said Dench. 'He cannot speak,' Jane explained. 'He has not spoken since he fell. Jack has gone for a surgeon to let blood.' 'A stroke is it, and not from a cutlass,' said the ferryman. 'Who would have expected that, old man? On my soul, I thought you would never have come to an end like this, like a sick cat before the fire. But it is a queer business, too. I reckon they thought to have you fast. By my liver, I am inclined to think it is shammed, so as to throw the enemy off the scent.' He looked intently at Rattenbury, and satisfied himself that the man really was ill. Then he turned himself abruptly about, came before Jane, and said in a low tone, 'He is tricky as a fox, but there is no deceit here. His game is played. How came this about?' 'I was away at Bindon. When I returned, he lay his length on the floor.'