ces, just the remains of what he came ashore with a few weeks ago.
He was going to give most of it to his sister, who has a number of
children, and then go away to sea again, and, dear mother, he promised
to take me with him if you would let me go. Mary and Fred will help all
the better, when I am away, to teach Sarah and John and Ann, and Fred is
so fond of books that he is certain to get on some day, somehow or
other."

What could the poor widow say to these appeals often repeated? What
could she hope to do for her boy? There was a romance attached in those
times to a sea life felt by all classes, which scarcely exists at the
present day. She sent for Reuben Cole, who, though a rough sailor,
seemed to have a kind heart. He promised to act the part of a father
towards the boy to the best of his power, undertaking to find a good
ship for him without delay. The widow yielded, and with many an earnest
prayer for his safety, committed Paul to the charge of Reuben Cole. The
honest sailor was as good as his word. He could scarcely have selected
a better ship than the _Cerberus_. He volunteered to join, provided
Paul was received on board; his terms were accepted, and he thought that
he was doing well for his young charge when he got him the appointment
of midshipmen's boy. The employment was very different from what Paul
had expected, but he had determined to do his duty in whatever station
he might be placed. The higher pay and perquisites would be of value to
him, as he might thus send more money to his mother, and he hoped soon
to become reconciled to his lot. One day, however, the name of a
midshipman who had just joined struck his ear,--it was that of Devereux,
the name of the family with whom his father had so long carried on the
unsuccessful lawsuit.

From some remarks casually made by one of the other midshipmen while he
was waiting in the berth, Paul was convinced that Gilbert Devereux was a
son of the man who had, he conceived, been the cause of his father's
ruin and death. Paul, had he been asked, would have acknowledged how he
ought to feel towards young Devereux, but he at times allowed himself to
regard him with bitterness and dislike, if not with downright hatred.
He well knew that this feeling was wrong, and he had more than once
tried to overcome the feeling when, perhaps, some careless expression
let drop by Gilbert Devereux, or some order given by him, would once
more arouse it. "I could bea