, what is it? Be confidential, my boy. The witching hour of
sunrise is fitted for confidential communications. You're not in love,
are--"

"Hush, Sam! the skylight is open. Come forward to the bows. Yes, Sam,
I _am_ in love."

"Well, Robin, I can't pretend ignorance, for I know it--at least I have
seen it."

"Seen it!" echoed Robin, "how is that? I have never by word or look
given the slightest indication to any one, of the state of my feelings."

"True, Robin, as regards words, but there are other modes of indication,
as must be well-known to a celebrated electrician like yourself. The
fact is, my dear boy, that you and Letta have been rubbing your
intellects together for so many years, that you have electrified each
other--the one positively, the other negatively; and even a Manx cat
with an absent mind and no tail could hardly fail to observe the
telegraphic communication which you have established by means of that
admirable duplex instrument, a pair of eyes."

"You distress me very much, Sam," returned Robin, seriously. "I assure
you I have never consciously done anything of the sort, and I have never
opened my lips to Letta on the subject--I dare not."

"I believe you as to your consciousness; but, to be serious, Robin, why
should being in love make you miserable?"

"Because it makes me doubt whether Letta cares for me."

"Nonsense, Robin. Take my advice, put an end to your doubts, and make
sure of your ground by taking heart and proposing to Letta."

"I dare not, Sam. It is all very well for a fine manly fellow like you
to give such advice, but I am such a poor, miserable sort of--"

"Hallo, fasser!" cried a merry voice at that moment, "how red de sun
am!"

The owner of the voice--a mere chip of a child, in perfect miniature
middy costume--ran up to its father and was hoisted on his shoulder.

"Yes, the sun is very red, like your own face, Sammy, my boy, to say
nothing of cousin Robin's. Where is mamma?"

The question was answered by mamma herself, our old friend Madge
Mayland, coming up the companion-hatch,--tall, dark, beautiful, like the
spirit of departed night. She was followed by Letta,--graceful, fair,
sunny, like the spirit of the coming morn.

"Sunbeam, ahoy!" came up through the cabin skylight at that moment, like
the sonorous voice of Neptune.

"Well, grunkle Rik, w'at is it?" shouted Sammy, in silvery tones, from
his father's shoulder.

"Grunkle" was the outcome of vario