on two sets of books--one for a position as supercargo and the other,
should nothing better be open, as common seaman. All he insisted upon
was that the ship should sail at once. As to the destination, that was
of no consequence, nor did the length of the voyage make any difference.
He remembered that his intimate friend, Gilbert, had some months before
gone as supercargo to China, his father wanting him to see something of
the world; and if a similar position were open he could, of course, give
references as to his character--a question the agent asked him--but,
then, Gilbert had a father to help him. Should no such position be
available, he would ship before the mast, or serve as cook or cabin-boy,
or even scullion--but he would not live another day or hour dependent on
his dear Uncle George, who had impoverished himself in his behalf.

He selected the sea instead of going into the army as a common soldier
because the sea had always appealed to him. He loved its freedom and
its dangers. Then again, he was young and strong--could climb like a
cat--sail a boat--swim--Yes!--the sea was the place! He could get far
enough away behind its horizons to hide the struggle he must make to
accomplish the one purpose of his life--the earning of his debt.

Filled with this idea he began to perfect his plans, determining to take
no one into his confidence until the day before the ship was ready to
sail. He would then send for his mother and Alec--bring them all down
to St. George's house and announce his intention. That was the best and
wisest way. As for Kate--who had now been at home some weeks--he
would pour out his heart to her in a letter. This was better than an
interview, which she would doubtless refuse:--a letter she would be
obliged to read and, perhaps, answer. As for his dear Uncle George--it
would be like tearing his heart out to leave him, but this wrench had to
be met and it was best to do it quickly and have done with it.

When this last thought took possession a sudden faintness crept over
him. How could he leave his uncle? What St. George was to him no one
but himself knew--father, friend, comrade, adviser--standard of men and
morals--all and more was his beloved uncle. No thought of his heart but
he had given him, and never once had he been misunderstood. He could put
his arm about his uncle's neck as he would about his mother's and not
be thought effeminate or childish. And the courtesy and dignity and
fairness