ttom of this wild vagary of his. For ten hours the
Captain lies off Chatham Quarries, taking on additional freight there;
but there is no signal from the passenger-dock. The next morning the
hawsers were cast off, and the mainsail run up again, while the Princess
surged away into the middle of the current.

"Now, my boy, we're in for a sail!" said Captain Saul.

"I'm glad," said Reuben, who would have been doubly glad, if he had
known of his narrow escape at the last landing.

"I suppose you haven't much of a kit?" said the Captain.

The truth is, that a pocket-comb was the extent of Reuben's equipment
for the voyage. It came out on further talk with the Captain; and the
boy was mortified to make such small show of appliances.

"Well, well," says the Captain, "we must keep this toggery for the city,
you know"; and he finds a blue woollen shirt,--for the boy is of good
height for his years,--and a foremast hand shortens in a pair of old
duck trousers for him, in which Reuben paces up and down the deck, with
a mortal dread at first lest the boom may make a dash against the wind
and knock him overboard, in quite sailorly fashion. The beef is hard
indeed; but a page or two out of "Dampier's Voyages," of which an old
copy is in the cabin, makes it seem all right. The shores, too, are
changing from hour to hour; a brig drifts within hail of them, which
Reuben watches, half envying the fortunate fellows in red shirts and
tasselled caps aboard, who are bound to Cuba, and in a fortnight's time
can pluck oranges off the trees there, to say nothing of pineapples and
sugar-cane.

Over the Saybrook Bar there is a plunging of the vessel which horrifies
him somewhat; but smooth weather follows, with long lines of hills
half-faded on the rim of the water, and the country sounds at last all
dead. A day or two of this, with only a mild autumnal breeze, and then a
sharp wind, with the foam flying over forecastle and wood-pile, between
the winding shores, toward Flushing Bay, brings sight of great white
houses with green turf coming down to the rocks, where the waves play
and break among the drifted sea-weed. Captain Saul is fast at his helm,
while the big boom creaks and crashes from side to side as he beats up
the narrowing channel, rounding Throg's Point, where the light-house and
old whitewashed fort stand shining in the sun,--skirting low rocky
islands, doubling other points, dashing at half-tide through the roar
and whirl of He