from their sable excellencies, ay, excellencies indeed, in devotion and
uprightness such as this world seldom sees surpassed. Even Captain
Mugford did not escape the ardour of the welcome; and whilst they hugged
us the dear old negroes were crying like children, from joy.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

EVENINGS ON THE WRECK, WITH A STORY FROM THE CAPTAIN.

The favourite season of girls is, I think, Spring; and of boys, Autumn.
One is the time of dreams, flowers, and emotions; the other, the period
of hopes, courage, and accomplishment.

October, the fulness of Autumn, with its cool, clear, bracing air; with
its gathered crops, rustling leaves, and golden light: October, when
days of furious storm are succeeded by weeks of hazy sunshine and
muffled quiet; when the fish are fat but greedy; when quacking seafowl
and game of every kind tempt the lovers of good sport--

Ah! that is the time for boys.

We fellows gulped it up as the hounds do their meat when distributed to
them, for by the end of October we should finish our six months at the
cape.

This dashed our cup of happiness with regret, as the falling leaves and
low winds moaning of winter touch October with a tint of sadness. But
in one case, as in the other, the spice of regret was just what gave
zest to the enjoyment of our pleasure.

The days being so short, it got to be our habit to improve every one of
our daylight hours, out of school, in the many sports which invited us,
and to do our studying in the evenings. So every night, as soon as
supper was finished, we repaired with Mr Clare to the schoolroom in the
old brig. There would be a wood-fire crackling in the stove, and two
shaded, bright lamps hanging over the tables.

We took up our studies, and Mr Clare sat by, ready to answer questions
or give explanations. When not busied with us he smoked and chatted
with Captain Mugford, or read the papers and magazines. Ugly had his
place on a mat where he could hear and see all that was going on.

Generally, during some portion of the evening, the Captain spread out
his great red bandanna on his knees, and took a loud-snoring nap. Every
movement of our salt tute's was interpreted by some corresponding signal
of the bandanna handkerchief. When perplexed, he wiped his forehead
with it; when amused, it blew a merry peal on his nose; in moments of
excitement or delight, it was snapped by his side; when sleepy, he
spread it on his lap; and once, I remember, he