it at a theatre, when I was to Liverpool once. I know all about it.
Shakespeare wrote it, and he's a great English poet."

"But did it ever happen?" said Mara, trembling between hope and fear.
"Is it like the Bible and Roman history?"

"Why, no," said Captain Kittridge, "not exactly; but things jist like
it, you know. Mermaids and sich is common in foreign parts, and they has
funerals for drowned sailors. 'Member once when we was sailing near the
Bermudas by a reef where the Lively Fanny went down, and I heard a kind
o' ding-dongin',--and the waters there is clear as the sky,--and I
looked down and see the coral all a-growin', and the sea-plants a-wavin'
as handsome as a pictur', and the mermaids they was a-singin'. It was
beautiful; they sung kind o' mournful; and Jack Hubbard, he would have
it they was a-singin' for the poor fellows that was a-lyin' there round
under the seaweed."

"But," said Mara, "did you ever see an enchanter that could make
storms?"

"Wal', there be witches and conjurers that make storms. 'Member once
when we was crossin' the line, about twelve o'clock at night, there was
an old man with a long white beard that shone like silver, came and
stood at the masthead, and he had a pitchfork in one hand, and a lantern
in the other, and there was great balls of fire as big as my fist came
out all round in the rigging. And I'll tell you if we didn't get a blow
that ar night! I thought to my soul we should all go to the bottom."

"Why," said Mara, her eyes staring with excitement, "that was just like
this shipwreck; and 'twas Ariel made those balls of fire; he says so; he
said he 'flamed amazement' all over the ship."

"I've heard Miss Roxy tell about witches that made storms," said Sally.

The Captain leisurely proceeded to open the clams, separating from the
shells the contents, which he threw into a pan, meanwhile placing a
black pot over the fire in which he had previously arranged certain
slices of salt pork, which soon began frizzling in the heat.

"Now, Sally, you peel them potatoes, and mind you slice 'em thin," he
said, and Sally soon was busy with her work.

"Yes," said the Captain, going on with his part of the arrangement,
"there was old Polly Twitchell, that lived in that ar old tumble-down
house on Mure P'int; people used to say she brewed storms, and went to
sea in a sieve."

"Went in a sieve!" said both children; "why a sieve wouldn't swim!"

"No more it wouldn't, in any Christia