ual misconception.
"Looking round the ship, was he--eh, Rosey?" he said with infinite
archness. "In course, kinder sweepin' round the galley, and offerin'
to fetch you wood and water, eh?" Even when the young girl had picked
up her book with the usual faint smile of affectionate tolerance, and
then drifted away in its pages, Mr. Nott chuckled audibly. "I reckon
old Frenchy didn't come by when the young one was bedevlin' you there."

"What, father?" said Rosey, lifting her abstracted eyes to his face.

At the moment it seemed impossible that any human intelligence could
have suspected deceit or duplicity in Rosey's clear gaze. But Mr.
Nott's intelligence was superhuman. "I was sayin' that Mr. Ferrieres
didn't happen in while the young feller was there--eh?"

"No, father," answered Rosey, with an effort to follow him out of the
pages of her book. "Why?"

But Mr. Nott did not reply. Later in the evening he awkwardly waylaid
the new lodger before the cabin door as that gentleman would have
passed on to his room.

"I'm afraid," said the young man, glancing at Rosey, "that I intruded
upon your daughter to-day. I was a little curious to see the old ship,
and I didn't know what part of it was private."

"There ain't no private part to this yer ship--that ez, 'cepting the
rooms and lofts," said Mr. Nott, authoritatively. Then, subjecting the
anxious look of his daughter to his usual faculty for misconception, he
added, "Thar ain't no place whar you haven't as much right to go ez any
other man; thar ain't any man, furriner or Amerykan, young or old, dyed
or undyed, ez hev got any better rights. You hear me, young fellow.
Mr. Renshaw--my darter. My darter--Mr. Renshaw. Rosey, give the
gentleman a chair. She's only jest come in from a promeynade, and hez
jest taken off her bonnet," he added, with an arch look at Rosey, and a
hurried look around the cabin, as if he hoped to see the missing gift
visible to the general eye. "So take a seat a minit, won't ye?"

But Mr. Renshaw, after an observant glance at the young girl's
abstracted face, brusquely excused himself, "I've got a letter to
write," he said, with a half bow to Rosey. "Good night."

He crossed the passage to the room that had been assigned to him, and
closing the door gave way to some irritability of temper in his efforts
to light the lamp and adjust his writing materials. For his excuse to
Mr. Nott was more truthful than most polite pretexts. He had,