ling, eh?" cried the steward, flourishing the rope's-end again.

In a burst of rage the poor boy raised the soup-tureen, and would
infallibly have shattered it on the man's head if Jack had not caught
his arm.

"Come, Wilkins, mind what you're about," he said, pushing him towards
the forepart of the ship to prevent a scuffle.

A moment's reflection sufficed to convince Wilkins of the folly, as well
as uselessness, of rebellion. Pocketing his pride and burning with
indignation, he walked forward, while the tyrannical steward went
grumbling to his own private den.

It chanced that night that the captain, ignorant of what had occurred,
sent for the unfortunate stowaway, for the mitigation of whose sorrows
his friend Ben Trench had, more than once, pleaded earnestly, but in
vain. The captain invariably replied that Watty had acted ungratefully
and rebelliously to a kind father, and it was his duty to let him bear
the full punishment of his conduct.

Watty was still smarting from the rope's-end when he entered the cabin.

"Youngster," said the captain, sternly, "I sent for you to tell you of a
fact that came to my knowledge just before we left port. Your father
told me that, being unwilling to disappoint you in your desires, he had
managed to get a situation of some sort for you on board a well-known
line of ocean steamers, and he only waited to get the thing fairly
settled before letting you know about it. There, you may go for'ed and
think what you have lost by running away."

Without a word of reply Watty left the cabin. His day's work had just
been completed. He turned into his hammock, and, laying his head on his
pillow, quietly wept himself to sleep.

"Ain't you rather hard on the poor boy, father?" said Polly, who had
witnessed the interview.

"Not so hard as you think, little woman," answered the captain, stroking
the child's head with his great hand; "that little rascal has committed
a great sin. He has set out on the tracks of the prodigal son you've
often read about, an' he's not sufficiently impressed with his guilt.
When I get him into a proper frame o' mind I'll not be so hard on him.
Now, Polly, go putt your doll to bed, and don't criticise your father."

Polly seized the huge whiskers of her sire, and giving him an
unsolicited "nor'-wester," which was duly returned, went off to her
little cot.

We do not mean to trouble the reader with all the incidents of a
prolonged voyage to southern la