way, and during this time Martin, having failed to
obtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school, doing
his best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin was not
particularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of grammar he
entertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined to yawn,
except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of such men as
Vasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was perfect; and in
arithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient, to the delight of
Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit, whose household books he summed up; and to the
satisfaction of his fast friend, Mr. Arthur Jollyboy, whose ledgers he
was--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined to keep.

Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He was
the idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured.
There was almost nothing that he would not attempt, and there were very
few things that he could not do. He never fought, however--from
principle; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity.
But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he thought
there was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair play. There
was a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As he
grew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous.

Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was, from prudential motives, a
fast friend of Martin. But he bore him a secret grudge, for he could not
forget the great fight.

One day Bob took Martin by the arm, and said, "I say, Rattler, come with
me to Bilton, and have some fun among the shipping."

"Well, I don't mind if I do," said Martin. "I'm just in the mood for a
ramble, and I'm not expected home till bed-time."

In little more than an hour the two boys were wandering about the
dock-yards of the sea-port town, and deeply engaged in examining the
complicated rigging of the ships. While thus occupied, the clanking of a
windlass and the merry "Yo heave O! and away she goes," of the sailors,
attracted their attention.

"Hallo! there goes the _Firefly_, bound for the South Seas," cried Bob
Croaker; "come, let's see her start. I say, Martin, isn't your friend,
Barney O'Flannagan, on board?"

"Yes, he is. He tries to get me to go out every voyage, and I wish I
could. Come quickly; I want to say good-bye to him before he starts."

"Why don't you run away, Rat