ten years
out in their reckoning, for John had numbered only forty-five summers,
and was as tough and muscular as ever he had been--although not quite so
elastic.

John Buzzby stood on the pier of the seaport town of Grayton watching
the active operations of the crew of a whaling ship which was on the
point of starting for the icebound seas of the frozen regions, and
making sundry remarks to a stout, fair-haired boy of fifteen, who stood
by his side gazing at the ship with an expression of deep sadness.

"She's a trim-built craft and a good sea-boat, I'll be bound, Master
Fred," observed the sailor, "but she's too small by half, accordin' to
my notions, and I _have_ seen a few whalers in my day. Them
bow-timbers, too, are scarce thick enough for goin' bump agin the ice o'
Davis Straits. Howsome'iver, I've seen worse craft drivin' a good trade
in the Polar Seas."

"She's a first-rate craft in all respects, and you have too high an
opinion of your own judgment," replied the youth indignantly. "Do you
suppose that my father, who is an older man than yourself, and as good a
sailor, would buy a ship, and fit her out, and go off to the
whale-fishery in her if he did not think her a good one?"

"Ah! Master Fred, you're a chip of the old block--neck or nothing--
carry on all sail till you tear the masts out of her! Reef the
t'gallant sails of your temper, boy, and don't run foul of an old man
who has been all but a wet-nurse to ye--taught ye to walk, and swim, and
pull an oar, and build ships, and has hauled ye out o' the sea when ye
fell in--from the time ye could barely stump along on two legs, lookin'
like as if ye was more nor half seas over."

"Well, Buzzby," replied the boy, laughing, "if you've been all that to
me, I think you _have_ been a wet-nurse too! But why do you run down my
father's ship? Do you think I'm going to stand that? No, not even from
you, old boy."

"Hallo! youngster," shouted a voice from the deck of the vessel in
question, "run up and tell your father we're all ready, and if he don't
make haste he'll lose the tide, so he will, and that'll make us have to
start on a Friday, it will, an' that'll not do for me no how, it won't;
so make sail and look sharp about it, do--won't you?"

"What a tongue he's got," remarked Buzzby. "Before I'd go to sea with a
first mate who jawed like that I'd be a landsman. Don't ever you git to
talk too much, Master Fred, wotever ye do. My maxim is--and it