ng himself as Ailie looked at him reproachfully through
her tears--"at least to do without me. I can't bear the thought. She's
all I have left to me, and--"

"Brother," interrupted Martha, looking hastily up, "did you ever before
hear of such a thing as taking a little girl on a voyage to the
whale-fishing?"

"No, never," replied the captain; "what has that got to do with it?"

Both ladies held up their hands and looked aghast. The idea of any man
venturing to do what no one ever thought of doing before was so utterly
subversive of all their ideas of propriety--such a desperate piece of
profane originality--that they remained speechless.

"George," said Martha, drying her eyes, and speaking in tones of deep
solemnity, "did you ever read _Robinson Crusoe_?"

"Yes, I did, when I was a boy; an' that wasn't yesterday."

"And did you," continued the lady in the same sepulchral tone, "did you
note how that man--that beacon, if I may use the expression, set up as a
warning to deter all wilful boys and men from reckless, and wicked, and
wandering, and obstreperous courses--did you note, I say, how that man,
that beacon, was shipwrecked, and spent a dreary existence on an
uninhabited and dreadful island, in company with a low, dissolute,
black, unclothed companion called Friday?"

"Yes," answered the captain, seeing that she paused for a reply.

"And all," continued Martha, "in consequence of his resolutely and
obstinately, and wilfully and wickedly going to sea?"

"Well, it couldn't have happened if he hadn't gone to sea, no doubt."

"Then," argued Martha, "will you, can you, George, contemplate the
possibility of your only daughter coming to the same dreadful end?"

George, not exactly seeing the connection, rubbed his nose with his
forefinger, and replied--"Certainly not."

"Then you are bound," continued Martha, in triumph, "by all that is
upright and honourable, by all the laws of humanity and _propriety_, to
give up this wild intention--and you _must_!"

"There!" cried Miss Jane emphatically, as if the argument were
unanswerable--as indeed it was, being incomprehensible.

The last words were unfortunate. They merely riveted the captain's
determination.

"You talk a great deal of nonsense, Martha," he said, rising to depart.
"I've fixed to take her, so the sooner you make up your minds to it the
better."

The sisters knew their brother's character too well to waste more time
in vain efforts; but Marth