rt."

"Well, it can't be helped," said Mr. Wheeler, with a philosophy he hoped
his son would imitate. "I wasn't brought up to the washing, Polly."

"It's a sin to spoil good things like that," said Mrs. Wheeler,
fretfully. "Bob's quite the gentleman--he will buy such expensive
shirts. Take it away, I can't bear to look at it."

Mr. Wheeler, considerably crestfallen, was about to obey, when he was
startled by a knock at the door.

"That's Captain Flower, I expect," said his wife, hastily; "he's going
to take Poppy and Emma to a theatre to-night. Don't let him see you in
that state, Peter."

But Mr. Wheeler was already fumbling at the strings of his apron, and,
despairing of undoing it, broke the string, and pitched it with the
other clothes under the sofa and hastily donned his coat.

"Good-evening," said Flower, as Mr. Wheeler opened the door; "this is my
mate."

"Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Wheeler.

The mate made his acknowledgments, and having shaken hands, carefully
wiped his down the leg of his trousers.

"Moist hand you've got, Wheeler," said Flower, who had been doing the
same thing.

"Got some dye on 'em at the docks," said Wheeler, glibly. "I've 'ad 'em
in soak."

Flower nodded, and after a brief exchange of courtesies with Mrs.
Wheeler as he passed the door, led the way up the narrow staircase to
Miss Tyrell's room.

"I've brought him with me, so that he'll be company for Emma Wheeler,"
said the skipper, as Fraser shook hands with her, "and you must look
sharp if you want to get good seats.

"I'm ready all but my hat and jacket," said Poppy, "and Emma's in her
room getting ready, too. All the children are up there helping her."

Fraser opened his eyes at such a toilet, and began secretly to wish that
he had paid more attention to his own.

"I hope you're not shy?" said Miss Tyrell, who found his steadfast gaze
somewhat embarrassing.

Fraser shook his head. "No, I'm not shy," he said, quietly.

"Because Emma didn't know you were coming," continued Miss Tyrell, "and
she's always shy. So you must be bold, you know."

The mate nodded as confidently as he could. "Shyness has never been
one of my failings," he said, nervously.

Further conversation was rendered difficult, if not impossible, by one
which now took place outside. It was conducted between a small Wheeler
on the top of the stairs and Mrs. Wheeler in the parlour below. The
subject was hairpins, an article in which it appeared