ur own country on sealing ships."

"Indeed so--just same. You see, Orundelico?"

"Oh, yes!" responds the boy, with a careless toss of head and wave of
the cane, as much as to say, "What matters it?"

"'Merican ship," further observes the man. "They speak Inglis, same as
people here."

"Yes, Eleparu," rejoins the boy, "that true; but they different from
Inglismen--not always friends; sometimes they enemies and fight.
Sailors tell me that when we were in the big war-ship."

"Well, it no business of ours," returns Eleparu. "Come 'long." Saying
which he leads off, the others following, all three at intervals
uttering ejaculations of delighted wonder as objects novel and unknown
come before their eyes.

Equally wonders the English youth as to who and what they may be. Such
queer specimens of humanity! But not long does he ponder upon it. Up
all the night preceding and through all that day, with his mind
constantly on the rack, his tired frame at length succumbs, and he falls
asleep.

CHAPTER THREE.

PORTSMOUTH MUD-LARKS.

The Hampshire youth sleeps soundly, dreaming of a ship manned by women,
with a pretty childlike girl among the crew. But he seems scarcely to
have closed his eyes before he is awakened by a clamour of voices,
scolding and laughing in jarring contrast. Rubbing his eyes and looking
about him, he sees the cause of the strange disturbance, which proceeds
from some ragged boys, of the class commonly termed "wharf-rats" or
"mud-larks." Nearly a dozen are gathered together, and it is they who
laugh; the angry voices come from others, around whom they have formed a
ring and whom they are "badgering."

Springing upon his feet, he hurries toward the scene of contention, or
whatever it may be, not from curiosity, but impelled by a more generous
motive--a suspicion that there is foul play going on. For among the
mud-larks he recognises one who, early in the day, offered insult to
himself, calling him a "country yokel." Having other fish to fry, he
did not at the time resent it; but now he will see.

Arriving at the spot, he sees, what he has already dimly suspected, that
the mud-larks' victims are the three odd individuals who lately stopped
in front of him. But it is not they who are most angry; instead, they
are giving the "rats" change in kind, returning their "chaff," and even
getting the better of them, so much so that some of their would-be
tormentors have quite lost their tempers.