often as I do."

"Humph!" said the professor.

"And then if I were wise, I would always know right from wrong."

"And don't you?"

"No, professor; because last night when I ran into the burning house to
save the boys I thought I was doing right; and when the ladies so kindly
thanked me, I felt sure I had done right; but this morning, when Aunt
Hannah scolded me, I doubted."

"My boy, listen to the oracles of experience. Do what your own
conscience assures you to be right, and never mind what others think or
say. I, who have been your guide up to this time, can be so no longer. I
can scarcely follow you at a distance, much less lead you. A higher hand
than Old Morris' shall take you on. But here we are now at the Hall,"
said the professor, as he opened the gates to admit himself and his
companion.

They passed up the circular drive leading to the front of the house,
paused a few minutes to gaze upon the ruins of the burnt wing, of which
nothing was now left but a shell of brick walls and a cellar of smoking
cinders, and then they entered the house by the servant's door.

"Mr. Middleton and the Commodore are in the library, and you are to take
the boy in there," said Grainger, who was superintending the clearing
away of the ruins.

"Come along, young Ishmael!" said the professor, and as he knew the way
of the house quite as well as the oldest servant in it, he passed
straight on to the door of the library and knocked.

"Come in," said the voice of Mr. Middleton.

And the professor, followed by Ishmael, entered the library.

It was a handsome room, with the walls lined with book-cases; the windows
draped with crimson curtains; the floor covered with a rich carpet; a
cheerful fire burning in the grate; and a marble-top table in the center
of the room, at which was placed two crimson velvet arm-chairs occupied
by two gentlemen--namely, Mr. Middleton and Commodore Burghe. The
latter was a fine, tall, stout jolly old sailor, with a very round
waist, a very red face, and a very white head, who, as soon as ever he
saw Ishmael enter, got up and held out his broad hand, saying:

"This is the boy, is it? Come here, my brave little lad, and let us take
a look at you!"

Ishmael took off his hat, advanced and stood before the commodore.

"A delicate little slip of a fellow to show such spirit!" said the old
sailor, laying his hand on the flaxen hair of the boy and passing his
eyes down from Ishmael's broad forehead an