“Captain,” said Mr. Long, “I can’t stand this. I must get ashore. If we get near to Blomidon again, I’ll take Bruce Rawdon, and go ashore in the boat. I _must_ go, for it’s a matter of the highest importance. Of course, it’s different with you. You wouldn’t care if you drifted here till doomsday.” At this Captain Corbet thrust both hands deep into his trousers’ pockets, and regarded Mr. Long with a fixed gaze. “_Me?_” said he, in a mild and almost parental tone. “_Me_ not care? _me!_ Look here, Mr. Long. Do you know what I am? I’m a parient! Your books call you home, sir; but what is it that’s a-callin’ o’ me? My babby, sir! That there tender infant has twined hisself round my boosom; an’ what am I a-doin’? You don’t know, sir; but I’m a-yearnin’ an’ a-pinin’ for my babby. He’s the most wonderful babby that I ever see,” continued the captain, in a faltering voice. “He’s got the pootiest crow; and if you’d jest hear him say his ga, ga, ga--” “O, bother your confounded baby!” said Mr. Long, with brutal rudeness, turning away abruptly. Captain Corbet looked after him with a puzzled expression. At first, indignant surprise seemed to predominate, and those who stood near anticipated an outburst of long-restrained feeling. But it was only for a moment. Then Captain Corbet’s better angel came to his assistance. Indignation vanished, and the face that was turned toward Mr. Long had on it nothing but a meek, sad smile. Captain Corbet shook his head. “Thar, that’s it; allus the same,” said he; “on-sympathetic, hard as a milestone, an’ owdacious in opposition to the tender babe. Human natur’,” he continued, elevating his patriarchal head, and regarding Mr. Long’s back with a severe dignity,--“human natur’ might exult in a administerin’ of a rebewk to sich langedge; but I’ve learned a better lesson. Yes, boys. I’ve sot at the feet of my babby. The aged Corbet has received insterruction from a mild infant. Now, I regard all that,” waving his hand toward Mr. Long, “not with anger, not with re-perroach, no, but with kimpassion. I pity him. I feel sorry for him. To him is unknown the holiest feeling of the hewman boosum; sich as _I_ feel, sich as every feyther feels when he’s a-nussin’ of his _peressh_us babby.” XXI _Blomidon, insulted, avenges himself.--A Victim devotes himself to appease his Wrath.--Original Views of Captain Corbet with regard to the Archaeology and the Science of Navigation._