r
one ugly trick that she has. She never tells any one what is coming, but
leaves them to find it out for themselves. She lets them put their
fingers in the fire, and never tells them that they will get burnt.

But that is very cruel and treacherous of her.

My boy, our business is not to call hard names, but to take things as we
find them, as the Highlandman said when he ate the braxy mutton. Now
shall I, because I am your Daddy, tell you what Madam How would not have
told you? When you get on board the yacht, you will think it all very
pleasant for an hour, as long as you are in the bay. But presently you
will get a little bored, and run about the deck, and disturb people, and
want to sit here, there, and everywhere, which I should not like. And
when you get beyond that headland, you will find the great rollers coming
in from the Atlantic, and the cutter tossing and heaving as you never
felt before, under a burning sun. And then my merry little young
gentleman will begin to feel a little sick; and then very sick, and more
miserable than he ever felt in his life; and wish a thousand times over
that he was safe at home, even doing sums in long division; and he will
give a great deal of trouble to various kind ladies--which no one has a
right to do, if he can help it.

Of course I do not wish to be sick: only it looks such beautiful weather.

And so it is: but don't fancy that last night's rain and wind can have
passed without sending in such a swell as will frighten you, when you see
the cutter climbing up one side of a wave, and running down the other;
Madam How tells me that, though she will not tell you yet.

Then why do they go out?

Because they are accustomed to it. They have come hither all round from
Cowes, past the Land's End, and past Cape Clear, and they are not afraid
or sick either. But shall I tell you how you would end this evening?--at
least so I suspect. Lying miserable in a stuffy cabin, on a sofa, and
not quite sure whether you were dead or alive, till you were bundled into
a boat about twelve o'clock at night, when you ought to be safe asleep,
and come home cold, and wet, and stupid, and ill, and lie in bed all to-
morrow.

But will they be wet and cold?

I cannot be sure; but from the look of the sky there to westward, I think
some of them will be. So do you make up your mind to stay with me. But
if it is fine and smooth to-morrow, perhaps we may row down the bay, and
see plenty