ants to be a good navigator, you must study now when
you're young; for arterwards it will be no use, and you may be as smart
a sailor as ever handled a ship, and yet be unable to steer her across
the ocean and take advantage of all the short cuts and currents, and so
on, that only experienced seamen and those well up in book knowledge can
know about."

Acting on this reasoning, he got the master of a neighbouring school to
give me after-time lessons in mathematics and geography; and, in the
course of a few months, I was able to be inducted into the mysteries of
great circle sailing and the art of taking lunars, much to the
admiration of Sam, whom I'm afraid I often took a delight in puzzling
with trigonometrical phrases that sounded full of portentous difficulty,
albeit harmlessly easy.

As time went on, although I was happy enough at the cottage, I was
continually asking Sam if he had found me a ship yet, he having promised
to "keep his eye open" and let me know as soon as he saw a good
opportunity of placing me with some captain with whom I was likely to
learn my nautical calling well and have a chance of getting on up the
ladder; but, as regularly as I asked him the question, the old salt
would give me the same stereotyped answer--"No, laddie, our ship's not
got into port yet. We must still wait for an offing!"

But at last, after many days, this anxiously awaited "offing" was, much
to my satisfaction, apparently thought within reach by my old friend.

One morning I did not accompany him as usual into Plymouth after
breakfast, where the old fellow regularly proceeded every morning--never
feeling happy for the day unless he saw the sea before dinner. I was
busily engaged trimming up a large asparagus bed in the garden, wherein
my adopted mother took considerable interest.

I recollect the morning well.

It was just at the beginning of summer, and the trees were all clothed
in that delicately-tinged foliage of feathery green, which they lose
later on in the season, while the ground below was covered with fruit
blossoms like snowflakes, a stray blue flag or daffodil just springing
up from the peaty soil, gleaming out amidst the vegetable wealth around,
and the air perfumed with a delicious scent, of the wallflowers that
were scattered about the garden in every stray nook and corner.

Sam was late on his return.

"Eight bells," his regular hour, had struck without his well-known voice
being heard hailing us fr