There was a pause; for the solemn manner and undoubted sincerity of the
speaker produced an impression on his companions, little given as they
were to thinking deeply on things of that nature. Then Roswell renewed the
discourse, turning it on a matter that had been seriously uppermost in his
mind for several days.

"I wish to converse with you, Captain Daggett, about our prospects and
chances," he said. "My schooner is full, as you know. We could do no more,
if we stayed here another season. You are about half-full, with a greatly
diminished chance of filling up this summer. Mr. Macy's attack on the
seals has put you back a month, at least, and every day we shall find the
animals less easy to take. The equinox is not very far off, and then, you
know, we shall get less and less sun,--so little, as to be of no great use
to us. We want day-light to get through the ice, and we shall have a long
hundred leagues of it between us and clear water, even were we to get
under way to-morrow. Remember what a serious thing it would be, to get
caught up here, in so high a latitude, after the sun has left us!"

"I understand you, Gardner," answered the other, quietly, though his
manner denoted a sort of compelled resignation, rather than any cordial
acquiescence in that which he believed his brother master intended to
propose. "You're master of your own vessel; and I dare say Deacon Pratt
would be much rejoiced to see you coming in between Shelter Island and
Oyster Pond. I'm but a cripple, or I think the Vineyard craft wouldn't be
many days' run astarn!"

Roswell was provoked; but his pride was touched also. Biting his lip, he
was silent for a moment, when he spoke very much to the point, but
generously, and like a man.

"I'll tell you what it is, Daggett," said our hero, "good-fellowship is
good-fellowship, and the flag is the flag. It is the duty of all us Yankee
seamen to stand by the stripes; and I hope I'm as ready as another to do
what I ought to do, in such a matter; but my owner is a close calculator,
and I am much inclined to think that he will care less for this sort of
feeling than you and I. The deacon was never in blue water."

"So I suppose--He has a charming daughter, I believe, Gar'ner?"

"You mean his niece, I suppose," answered Roswell, colouring. "The deacon
never had any child himself, I believe--at least he has none living. Mary
Pratt is his niece."

"It's all the same--niece or daughter, she's comely, and