rd for it!' he interposed.

'Only you really are under a delusion. It 's extraordinary. You can't be
quite in your right senses about us; you must be--I don't mean to speak
disrespectfully-what we call on shore, cracked about us. . . .

'Doddered, don't they say in one of the shires?' he remarked.

Half-encouraged, and in the belief that I might be getting eloquent, I
appealed to his manliness. Why should he take advantage of a couple of
boys? I struck the key of his possible fatherly feelings: What misery
were not our friends suffering now. ('Ay, a bucketful now saves an ocean
in time to come!' he flung in his word.) I bade him, with more pathetic
dignity reflect on the dreadful hiatus in our studies.

'Is that Latin or Greek?' he asked.

I would not reply to the cold-blooded question. He said the New Testament
was written in Greek, he knew, and happy were those who could read it in
the original.

'Well, and how can we be learning to read it on board ship?' said Temple,
an observation that exasperated me because it seemed more to the point
than my lengthy speech, and betrayed that he thought so; however, I took
it up:--

'How can we be graduating for our sphere in life, Captain Welsh, on board
your vessel? Tell us that.'

He played thumb and knuckles on his table. Just when I was hoping that
good would come of the senseless tune, Temple cried,

'Tell us what your exact intentions are, Captain Welsh. What do you mean
to do with us?'

'Mean to take you the voyage out and the voyage home, Providence
willing,' said the captain, and he rose.

We declined his offer of tea, though I fancy we could have gnawed at a
bone.

'There's no compulsion in that matter,' he said. 'You share my cabin
while you're my guests, shipmates, and apprentices in the path of living;
my cabin and my substance, the same as if you were what the
North-countrymen call bairns o' mine: I've none o' my own. My wife was a
barren woman. I've none but my old mother at home. Have your sulks out,
lads; you'll come round like the Priscilla on a tack, and discover you've
made way by it.'

We quitted his cabin, bowing stiffly.

Temple declared old Rippenger was better than this canting rascal.

The sea was around us, a distant yellow twinkle telling of land.

'His wife a barren woman! what's that to us!' Temple went on, exploding
at intervals. 'So was Sarah. His cabin and his substance! He talks more
like a preacher than a sailor. I should lik