had a life of some
difficulty and adventure; and now, in his own hours, he was studying to
become a clergyman. Notwithstanding such a boyhood of labour, his
manners were good and agreeable, and no one would ever have guessed that
his training until he went to college had been little above that of a
farm servant.

It was some time before we made acquaintance with the sailing-boat which
had been provided by our father, for the first weeks of our new life
were stormy and cold. What whetted our desire for a sail was that
Captain Mugford would not even show us the boat. We would tease him,
and guess at every mast we saw in the bay; but the Captain only laughed,
and put us off with such remarks as "Keep your powder dry, my young
hearties!" "Avast heaving! the skipper is dumb."

However, one fine morning the Captain steered into our breakfast-room
before all the fresh brown bread and clotted cream and eggs and bacon
had been quite stowed away. "At it, ain't you, boys, with forecastle
appetites? Pitch in, old fellows; make the butter fly!" He had wished
Mr Clare a good morning, sat down on a corner of a side-table, wiped
his forehead with a great red silk handkerchief, and got his elbows well
akimbo, before he directed the remark to us. There he sat shaking with
a pleasant little interior rumble of laughter at our earnestness in the
meal, and expressing his appreciation every few moments with, "Well!
that's jolly!" which remark each time portended another series of
sub-waistcoat convulsions. He got through laughing as we finished
breakfast, and then each of us went up for a shake of his hand.

"Your cargoes are in. When do you sail?"

"O Captain! can we sail to-day?" we all cried, for the joke and his
unusually radiant face signified something better to come.

"I have a fancy that way, if Mr Clare says yes. That's my business
here this fine Saturday. Yes, Mr Clare? Thank you! the youngsters are
mad for a trip under canvas. You will go with us, sir, I hope? Thank
you again!--Scamper, boys, for your caps! Ha! ha! ha!--With your
permission, Mr Clare, I will fill my pipe.--Juno! Juno! Ah! there you
are. Do, like a good old woman, get me a coal out of your wood-fire--
just such a red, round piece of oak as Clump always chooses."

Presently Juno trudged smiling back, with a hot coal held in the tongs.

"Here, massa! here, Capting, is de berry heart of de fire!" and laying
it carefully in the bowl of his pipe