n." He
accosted us one day, sidling up to our door, with, "How d'ye do to-day?"

"Better, thank you," I replied from the sofa.

"That's real nice. Tell ye what, we'll be glad to see the ladies out.
How's yer mar?" nodding towards the berth from which twinkled Mrs. K.'s
eyes. I laughed, and explained that our relations were of affection
rather than consanguinity. His interest increased when he found we were
travelling alone. He gave us his London address, evidently considering
us in the light of Daniels about to enter the lions' den. "Ef ye have
any trouble," said he, as he wrote down the street and number, "there's
one Yankee'll stand up for ye." He amused the Englishman by calling out,
"Hullo. D'ye feel _good_ this morning?" "No," would be the reply, with a
burst of laughter; "I feel awful wicked; think I'll go right out and
kill somebody."

There was a shout one morning, "A sail! See the stars and stripes!" I
had not raised my head for days, but staggered across the floor at that,
and clinging to the frame, thrust my head out of the window. Yes, there
was a ship close by, with the stars and stripes floating from the
mast-head, I found, when the roll of the steamer carried my window to
its level. "Seems good ter see the old rag!" I looked up to find the
Mowing Machine Man gazing upon it with eyes all afloat. "I'd been a
thinking," said he, "all them fellers have got somebody waiting for 'em
over there,"--our passengers were mostly English,--"but there wasn't
nobody a waiting for me. Tell ye what,"--and he shook out the folds of a
red and yellow handkerchief,--"it does my heart good ter see the old
flag." There was a bond of sympathy between us from that moment.

We had another and less agreeable specimen of this free people--a tall,
tough western cattle dealer, who quarrelled if he could find an
antagonist, swore occasionally, drank liquor, and chewed tobacco
perpetually, wore his trousers tucked into his long boots, his hands
tucked into his pockets, and, to crown these attributes, believed in
Andrew Johnson!--a middle-aged man, with soft, curling brown hair above
a face that could be cruelly cold and hard. His hair should have been
wire; his blue eyes were steel. But hard as was his face, it softened
and smoothed itself a little at sight of the sick women. He paused
beside us one day with a rough attempt to interest and amuse by
displaying a knife case containing a dozen different articles. "This is
ter take a st