knew all about it,
and that it was nothing, really nothing. He would like to do it again;
he was really glad to be at sea on such a jolly little ship; the bump
on his head was nothing; no, his seasickness was past; what he had done
was nothing, by George, not worth mentioning!

So he said, while he held Ruth Le Moyne's hand and looked into her
eyes--dark brown eyes, he noticed, not bright now, but misty with
gratitude---and he meant what he said.

"Of course, you feel strange and lost," she said. "But you will get
quickly used to ship life, and I know you will like it. You know, we
call ourselves the 'happy family.' You are one of us, now. You share
in the venture, and if we are successful--but you will hear all about
it after awhile."

She broke off abruptly, looked aloft, then turned to the helmsman.

"Watch your eye, Oomak!" she called.

The savage-appearing steersman inclined his head submissively and
pulled upon the wheel spokes. Martin stared, surprised. What had this
entrancing bundle of femininity to do with the steering of the ship?

She turned to him again.

"We are losing the breeze," she said regretfully. "I suppose, though,
we shouldn't complain. We have gained a good offing."

Losing the breeze!

"Do you mean--is the storm passing?" asked Martin.

"The storm?" She stared, then smiled. "Oh, yes--see!"

Martin looked up. Rifts of blue sky showed in the leaden blanket
overhead. But the sea seemed as wild, his ear sensed no decrease in
the wind's howl. This girl seemed very sure.

"I'll set the t'gal'n's'l and shake a reef out of the mains'l at eight
bells," she continued. "Just a few moments of the time, now. You
know, we are cracking on."

"Oh--of course," said Martin blankly. He didn't know just what she was
talking about, but the salty words rolled off her tongue very glibly.
"W-what are you on the ship, Miss----"

"Oh, I forgot that you didn't know," laughed the girl. "Why, I am the
mate."

The mate! This radiant, laughing creature the mate! This slip of a
girl! Oh, ho, no wonder the boatswain wept and spoke of posies, and
the hunch-back waxed poetical in description. This girl...

Martin suddenly gulped. He remembered the prim, mutton-chopped little
man of his imaginings, the gentle, senile little mate of the brig
_Cohasset_. He winced and blushed at the recollection of his idle
thoughts. But a woman for mate! Why--and he stared about him--this
girl must be