talk to me a bit?" was his reply; and resting
his head on the edge of his hammock and looking me well over, he added,
"Did they pick you up as well?"

I laughed and wrung some salt water out of my sleeve.

"No. I've not been in the sea, but I've been on deck, and it's just as
wet. It always _is_ wet at sea," I added in a tone of experience.

His eyes twinkled as if I amused him. "That, indeed? And yourself, are
ye--a midshipman?"

It had been taken for granted that our new hand was "a gentleman." I
never doubted it, though he spoke with an accent that certainly recalled
old Biddy Macartney; a sort of soft ghost of a brogue with a turn up at
the end of it, as if every sentence came sliding and finished with a
spring, and I did wish I could have introduced myself as a
midshipman--instead of having to mutter, "No, I'm a stowaway."

He raised himself higher in his hammock.

"A stowaway? What fun! And what made ye go? Were ye up to some kind of
diversion at home, and had to come out of it, eh? Or were ye bored to
extinction, or what? (Country life in England is mighty dull, so they
tell me.) I suppose it was French leave that ye took, as ye say you're a
stowaway? I'm asking ye a heap of impertinent questions, bad manners to
me!"

Which was true. But he asked them so kindly and eagerly, I could only
feel that sympathy is a very pleasant thing, even when it takes the form
of a catechism that is all questions, and no room for the answers.
Moreover, I suspect that he rattled on partly to give me time to leave
off blushing and feel at ease with him.

"I ran away because of several things," said I.

"I always did want to see the world"--("And why wouldn't ye?" my new
friend hastily interpolated). "But even if I had stayed at home I don't
believe I should ever have got to like being a lawyer"--("Small chance
of it, I should say, the quill-driving thievery!") "It was my uncle's
office"--("I ask his pardon and yours.") "Oh, you may say what you like.
I never could get on with him. I don't mean that he was cruel to me in
the least, though I think he behaved shabbily--"

"Faith, it's a way they have! I've an uncle myself that's a sort of
first cousin of my father's, and six foot three in his stockings,
without a drop of good-nature in the full length of him."

"Where is your home?" said I, for it certainly was my turn to ask
questions.

"Where would it be but ould Ireland?" And after a moment's pause he
added, "They call