their
own porcelain, and copied upon our pottery," said Becker; "but this
conveys only a ludicrous idea of them. They are the most industrious,
but at the same time the vainest, most stupid, and most credulous
people in the world; they worship the moon, fire, fortune, and a
thousand other things; people go about amongst them selling wind,
which they dispose of in vials of various sizes."

"That is a trade that will not require an extraordinary amount of
capital."

"True; and besides, as they carry on their trade in the open air, they
have no rent to pay."

"Their bonzes or priests," continued Becker, "to excite charity,
perambulate the streets in chains, sometimes with some inflammable
matter burning on their heads, whilst, instead of attempting to purify
the souls of dying sinners, they put rice and gold in their mouths
when the vital spark has fled. They have a very cruel mode of
punishing renegade Lamas: these are pierced through the neck with a
red-hot iron."

"What is a Lama, father?"

"It is a designation of the Tartar priests."

For some time Willis had been closely examining a particular point in
the bay with increasing anxiety; at last he ran towards the shore and
leapt into the sea. Becker and his four sons were on the point of
starting off in pursuit of him.

"Stop," said Wolston, "I have been watching Willis's movements for the
last ten minutes, and I guess his purpose--let him alone."

Willis swam to some object that was floating on the water, and
returned in about a quarter of an hour, bringing with him a plank.

"Well," he inquired, on landing, "was I wrong?"

"Wrong about what?" inquired Wolston.

"The _Nelson_ is gone."

"The proof, Willis."

"That plank."

"Well, what about the plank?"

"I recognise it."

"How, Willis?"

"How! Well," replied the obstinate pilot, "fish don't breed planks,
and--and--I scarcely think this one could escape from a dockyard, and
float here of its own accord."

"Then, Willis, according to you, there are no ships but the _Nelson_,
no ships wrecked but the _Nelson_, and no planks but the _Nelson's_.
Willis, you are a fool."

"Every one has his own ideas, Mr. Wolston."

Towards evening, when they were on their way back to Rockhouse, Sophia
confidentially called Willis aside, and he cheerfully obeyed the
summons.

"Pilot," said she, "I have made up my mind about one thing."

"And what is that, Miss Sophia?"

"Why, this--in future, when we are al