ss oppressed his heart as he thought of his
old father and mother, and the lowly cottage on the Border hills. He
had not, indeed, acted in direct opposition to the wishes of his
parents, but he had disobeyed the well-known Scripture command to do
them "honour," for he had resolved on his course of action without
consulting them, or asking their advice. He felt that he had very
selfishly forsaken them in their old age; in the hour of their sore
distress, and at a time when they stood woefully in need of his strong
muscles, buoyant spirit, and energetic brain. In short, Edwin Jack
began to feel that he required all his philosophy, and something more,
to enable him to face the future with the unflinching courage of a man.

So the ship moved slowly on, revealing on her stern the "_Lively Poll_"
in letters of burnished gold--past the pier-head, down the broad river,
out upon the widening firth, beyond lighthouse, buoy, and beacon, until
at last the fresh Atlantic breezes filled her snowy sails.

And ever as she rose and sank upon the rolling waves, their swish and
thud fell strangely on the ear of one who lay deep down in the recesses
of the hull, where--among barrels of pork, and casks of tar, and cans of
oil, and coils of rope, and other unsavoury stores--he consorted with
rats and mice and an uneasy conscience, in thick darkness. This was a
"stowaway." He was a sturdy, bright, ruddy little fellow of fourteen.
Down in that unwholesome place, with a few ship-biscuits and a bottle of
water to keep him alive, he would have looked like a doubled-up
overgrown hedgehog if there had been light enough to reveal him.

Thus, with its little world of hopes and fears, its cares and pleasures,
and its brave, trembling, trusting, sorrowing, joyful, anxious, reckless
hearts, the good ship passed from the shores of Britain, until her sails
quivered like a petrel's wings on the horizon, and then vanished into
the boundless bosom of the mighty sea.

CHAPTER TWO.

TELLS OF A GHOST AND AN OVERWHELMING DISASTER.

It may seem strange, nevertheless it is true, that ignorance is a
misfortune which now and then results in good. Of course we do not make
this remark in commendation of ignorance, but if Baldwin Burr had not
been ignorant and densely stupid, Philosopher Jack would not have had
the pleasure of instructing him, and the seaman himself would not have
enjoyed that close intimacy which frequently subsists between teacher
and