t," continued Wallbridge, as
he succeeded in finding a coal, and soon had his pipe in working order.
"What were you doing with that book, doctor? Do you keep a log of the
voyage?"

"Well, ya-as," drawled the steward. "I keep a log of this voyage, and a
log of the voyage of life. I've kept a diary ever since I taught
school; and that's seven years ago, come winter."

"It must be worth reading. I should like to look it over, if we have to
stay out here another day. I suppose you have seen a good deal of the
world, if you have been to sea many years."

"No; I haven't seen much of the world. I never went but one voyage
before this, and that was in a coaster, from New York to Bangor. The
diary is only for my own reading, and I wouldn't let anybody look at it
for all the world," answered Harvey Barth, with an even more painful
cough than usual.

"Then you are not a great traveller," added Wallbridge, puffing away at
his pipe, as he watched the sun sinking to his rest beyond the western
waves.

"Bless you! no. I was brought up on a farm in York State. I used to keep
school winters till the folks in our town began to think they must have
a more dandified chap than I am."

"Where did you learn to cook, if you were a schoolmaster?"

"Well you see I was an only son, and my mother died when I was but
sixteen. Father and I kept house together till he died, and I used to
do about all the cooking. I had an idea then that I could do it pretty
well, too," replied Harvey, with a sickly smile. "The old man got to
drinking rather too much, and lost all he had and all I had, too. My
health wasn't very good; I had a bad cough and night sweats. I was an
orphan at twenty-four, and I thought I'd go to New York city, and take a
little voyage on the salt water. I had about a hundred dollars I earned
after the old man died; but a fellow in the city got it all away from
me;" and Harvey hung his head, as though this was not a pleasant
experience to remember.

"Ah! how was that?" asked Wallbridge.

"The fellow offered to show me round town, and, as I was kind of
lonesome, I went with him. We called at a place to pay a bill he owed.
He had a check for three hundred dollars; but the man he owed couldn't
give him the change, so I lent him my hundred dollars, and took the
check till he paid me. Then my kind friend went into another room; and
that's the last I ever saw of him. I couldn't find him, but I did find
that the check was good for not