er.

Miss Jewell nodded. "They make the best husbands," she said, gravely.

The skipper began to argue the point, and Mr. Jewell, at that moment
taking a seat behind, joined in with some heat. A more ardent supporter
could not have been found, although his repetition of the phrase "May
and December" revealed a want of tact of which the skipper had not
thought him capable. What had promised to be a red-letter day in his
existence was spoiled, and he went to bed that night with the full
conviction that he had better abandon a project so hopeless.

With a fine morning his courage revived, but as voyage succeeded voyage
he became more and more perplexed. The devotion of the cook was patent
to all men, but Miss Jewell was as changeable as a weather-glass. The
skipper would leave her one night convinced that he had better forget
her as soon as possible, and the next her manner would be so kind, and
her glances so soft, that only the presence of the ever-watchful cook
prevented him from proposing on the spot. The end came one evening in
October. The skipper had hurried back from the City, laden with
stores, Miss Jewell having, after many refusals, consented to grace the
tea-table that afternoon. The table, set by the boy, groaned beneath the
weight of unusual luxuries, but the girl had not arrived. The cook was
also missing, and the only occupant of the cabin was the mate, who,
sitting at one corner, was eating with great relish.

"Ain't you going to get your tea?" he inquired.

"No hurry," said the skipper, somewhat incensed at his haste. "It
wouldn't have hurt _you_ to have waited a bit."

"Waited?" said the other. "What for?"

"For my visitors," was the reply.

The mate bit a piece off a crust and stirred his tea. "No use waiting
for them," he said, with a grin. "They ain't coming."

"What do you mean?" demanded the skipper.

"I mean," said the mate, continuing to stir his tea with great
enjoyment--"I mean that all that kind'artedness of yours was clean
chucked away on that cook. He's got a berth ashore and he's gone for
good. He left you 'is love; he left it with Bill Hemp."

"Berth ashore?" said the skipper, staring. "Ah!" said the mate, taking
a large and noisy sip from his cup. "He's been fooling you all along for
what he could get out of you. Sleeping aft and feeding aft, nobody to
speak a word to 'im, and going out and being treated by the skipper;
Bill said he laughed so much when he was telling 'im that