antern in his hand, he
crawled over the boxes to the cook-room. It was very small, but it was
admirably fitted up, with a tiny stove and plenty of lockers. In one
corner hung a log of bacon, from which a few slices had been out at some
recent period.

"That suits my case exactly," said the explorer, as he took down the
bacon. "I shall treat myself to a slice of fried ham before I bother my
head any more about this craft or any other."

In a locker on which the cook sat while engaged in his duties was a
supply of wood; and in five minutes Little Bobtail had a good fire in
the stove. A frying-pan lay by the side of the locker. Indeed, our hero
could want nothing which he did not immediately find ready for use, just
as though a multitude of fairies stood at his elbows to meet his every
wish. In another locker he found a kid of cold potatoes, and there was
an abundance of hard-tack in a keg on the transom. The slice of bacon
hissed and sizzled in the pan on the stove, and the odor was delightful
to the hungry boy. It was soon "done to a turn," and the fried potatoes
were as brown and nice as those prepared by his mother. He might have
had tea or coffee, but he did not care for them. At his age they are
not reckoned among the substantials for a good meal. Procuring a plate,
knife, and fork from the cabin, he helped himself from the pan on the
stove.

"That's what I call first rate!" exclaimed he, when he had duly tested
the bacon and the potatoes. "I shall be ready to hire out as a cook
after this. That's tip-top bacon, and I respect the pig that left this
leg I see to me."

Little Bobtail glanced up at the leg of bacon in the corner, and thought
he had made a good pun; but it was fearfully old and stale to be printed
in a book, and we do so only out of deference to his feelings. No
right-minded and highly moral person will make puns; and our hero is
only excusable on the ground that he was alone, and did not force it
upon other people. He ate all he wanted; nay, more--all he could. He
devoured the entire slice he had cooked, leaving none for a lunch, in
case he wanted one, when he had not time to cook. He was entirely
satisfied, and that is saying a great deal of a boy of sixteen, growing,
and sailing on the salt water, too. He could not eat any more, or he
would; and, being too full for utterance, he made no more speeches to
himself. Doubtless he had endangered the peace of his dreams by
overloading his stomach at tha