tentions of her nurse.
On deck she found abundance of nurses, from old Bob Motion to the
stately Mr. Collins, who, when off duty, carried her about in his arms,
singing sea songs or Scotch ballads. Her kindest and best friend,
however, was Mr. Wright, the second mate. He had been brought up a
gentleman, and had served his time as midshipman and master on board a
King's ship, and had been broken for some act of insubordination, which
had stopped his further promotion in that quarter. He had subsequently
formed an imprudent marriage with some woman much beneath himself, and
had struggled for many years with poverty, sickness, and heart-breaking
cares. He had, in the course of time, buried this wife and seven
children, and was now alone in the world, earning his living as the
second mate of the small brig, the _Anne_.

The Captain disliked him, but said, "that he was an excellent seaman,
and could be depended upon." The mate was jealous of him, and thought
that the Captain preferred Wright to him, and considered him the ablest
man of the two. But old Boreas only hated him for being a gentleman of
superior birth and breeding to himself. In speaking of him he always
added--"Ah, d----n him, he's a gentleman! and writes and speaks Dic. I
hate gentlemen on board ship!"

Mr. Wright, with his silver hair and mild pale face, was a great
favourite with Flora, and while he carried Josey in his arms to and fro
the deck, she listened with pleasure to the sad history of his
misfortunes, or to the graphic pictures he drew of the countries he had
visited during a long life spent at sea. He fancied that Josey was the
image of the last dear babe he lost,--his pet and darling, whom he never
mentioned without emotion--his blue-eyed Bessy. She lost her mother when
she was just the age of Josey, and she used to lie in his bosom of a
night, with her little white arms clasped about his neck. She was the
last thing left to him on earth, and he had loved her with all his
heart; but God punished him for the sin of his youth by taking Bessy
from him. He was alone in the world now--a grey-haired, broken-hearted
old man, with nothing to live for but the daily hope that death was
nearer to him than it was the day before, and that he should soon see
his angel Bessy and her poor mother again.

And so he took to Josey, and used to call her Bessy, and laugh and cry
over her by turns, and was never so happy as when she was in his arms,
with her little fi