were things of the past; and during the last days of their companionship
on board the _Pandora_ the sentiments of all three had undergone a
change. An identity of interests had produced a certain three-cornered
sympathy,--obliterating all past spite, and establishing, if not
positive friendship, at least a sort of triangular forgiveness. Of
course this affection was of the isosceles kind,--Ben and Little William
being the _sides_, and Snowball the _base_. It is scarce necessary to
say, that, meeting again under the circumstances described, all past
spite, had there been any, would have been forgiven and forgotten.

Fortunately this had been already done. Between Ben and Snowball, and
Snowball and Little William, the hatchet had been long ago buried; and
they now met, not as enemies, but as old acquaintances,--almost as
friends: nay, we might say, _altogether_ as friends. If not so before,
the common danger had made them so now, and amicably did they greet one
another.

After such an encounter, it is superfluous to say that no thought of
again separating entered into the minds of any of the party. The crews
of both rafts knew that their destinations were identical.

Each was an _ocean waif_, seeking to escape from the wilderness of
waters,--longing for deliverance from a common danger. In company they
might have a better chance of obtaining it. Why should they separate to
search for it?

The question did not occur to either,--in thought or in word. From the
moment of their meeting, instinct told them that their destinies were
the same,--that their action in future should be united.

After the two rafts had collided together, and those involuntary but
joyful salutations were exchanged between their crews, the respective
skippers became occupied with the more serious business of uniting the
frail embarkations into one, and rendering them for the future
inseparable.

"Snowball!" inquired the sailor, "have you got any spare rope?"

"Plenty o' dat 'ere," responded the ex-cook of the _Pandora_.

"Yar am a coil o' strong sinnet. Dat do?"

"That's the stuff," responded Ben. "Heave it this way, ye son of a
sea-cook! Heave!"

"Now," continued he, laying hold of the coil of sennit, and tossing back
one end over an empty water-cask. "Make fast there, Snowey! I dare say
we can lay alongside safe enough till daylight! After that we'll splice
together in a better sort o' way."

The ex-cook, obedient to the