alked quietly away. His precious knife was gone, and he had
perhaps but irritated and made more unfriendly one of the very men whom
he so longed to influence for good. He had left himself without any
defensive weapon among men who reckoned human life as of trifling value.
Yet Blair was not discouraged. He had made a beginning; and though
roughly received, it was an effort put forth in a Christian spirit, and
could not be lost. With a petition in his heart for the rough sailor he
had just quitted, Blair went to a quiet part of the ship to write a few
lines to his mother. It seemed to him it would be a comfort to fancy
himself in communication with her, though the letter might never fall
under her dear eyes. Yet that was not impossible. There were letters
waiting already on board, until they could be sent by some
homeward-bound craft. The little mail-bag might find a timely and trusty
bearer.

Blair had nearly filled the sheet before him, unconscious of any
observers. The vessel lay becalmed, scarcely moving on the quiet waters,
and the men had been stretched lazily about, or leisurely mending sails,
or washing their clothing in true sailors' fashion. Drawn on by
Brimstone's beckoning finger, a group had silently gathered round Blair,
ready for any wild frolic at the boy's expense which their summoner
might have in his unscrupulous brain.

Just as Blair put the signature to his letter, the paper was snatched
from his hand by some one from behind.

"Now hear, worshipful shipmates," said Brimstone, making as if he would
read the letter aloud.

"You don't know your alphabet," said Derry Duck contemptuously. "I am
the scholard for you; but I choose to let the writer do his own reading.
Here, Mum, let us have the benefit of your long-tailed letter in plain
English, stops put in all right."

Blair's eyes flashed for a moment, but the next he put out his hand for
the letter, and said pleasantly, "Do you really want to know how a
Yankee boy writes home to his mother? Well, then, I'll read every word
out, just as it is written."

[Illustration:]

The tones of Blair's voice were clear and firm as he read as follows:

"DEAR MOTHER--I always thought I loved you, but I never half knew
what you were to me before. I think of you by day, and dream of you
by night."

"I should think he was writing to his sweetheart," said Brimstone with a
coarse laugh.

"Silence," shouted Derry Duck in a tone of command. "Go on, b