that
ever sailed out of the London Docks--when she has anything like decent
weather!"

"That she is, sorr, plaze the pigs!" chorused the Irishman to this paean
of praise, which might have run on to an interminable length if it had
not been just then interrupted by the mate's suddenly raising his gilt-
banded cap in nautical salute to a new-comer, who now appeared on the
scene.

Captain Dinks, at once "cutting short" any further rhapsodical encomiums
he may have contemplated anent the merits of the _Nancy Bell_, turned
round.

"Ah, good morning, Mr Meldrum," said he in cordial tones, raising his
cap politely like his chief officer. "You are early on deck: an old
sailor, I presume!"

"Good morning, Captain Dinks," smilingly replied the gentleman
addressed, one of the few saloon passengers who patronised the cuddy of
the New Zealand clipper on her present voyage. He had only just that
moment come up from below, tempted to turn out by the genial brightness
of the lovely June morning; and, as he emerged from the companion
hatchway, he bent his steps along the poop towards the binnacle, by
which the captain and his aide-de-camp were standing. "Yes," he
continued, in answer to the former's question, "I have had a voyage or
two in my time, and one is accustomed to keep early hours at sea."

"Begorrah, ye're right, sorr!" ejaculated the Irish mate, with an
empressment that showed his earnestness. "An' a dale too airly for some
ov us sometimes. Sure, an' a sailor's loife is a dog's loife entirely!"

"Shut up, you old humbug!" said the captain with a laugh, turning to the
passenger; "Why, to hear him you would think McCarthy to be one of those
lazy lubbers who are never content unless they are caulking below,
snoozing their wits away whilst the sun is scorching their eyes out;
whereas, he's the most active and energetic seaman I ever met with in
all my experience at sea, man and boy, for the last thirty years. Look
you, Mr Meldrum, he never waits to be roused out by any chance when
it's his watch on deck; while, should the weather be at all nasty, you
really can't get him to go below and turn in--it is `spell ho' with him
with a vengeance, night and day alike!"

"Don't you belave his blarney, sorr," put in the mate eagerly, bursting
into a roar of merriment, although blushing purple with delight the
while at the skipper's compliment. "Why, sorr, whin I go to slape
sometimes, the divil himself couldn't wake me!"