t it is such an old story to hear about Robinson
Crusoes."

Tommy looked blank. He had always implicitly believed the marvelous
tales of yarn spinners, and his soul had been fired by the thought of a
life of adventure on the deep. He had talked to the little girls until
they had accounted him somewhat of a hero and looked to him to perform
great feats of bravery.

"I don't see any fun in going to sea, then," he said, dolefully, "if
there ain't any pirates and shipwrecks and things like that--"

"It isn't those things that make you love the sea, Tommy," cried Judy.
"It is the smell of it, and the wind, and the wide blue water and the
wide blue sky. It is something in your blood. I don't believe you
really love it at all, Tommy Tolliver."

She got up from the couch and began to gather up her wet hair, and only
Launcelot saw that she did it to hide her tears.

But Tommy was blind to her emotion. "Yes, I do," he asserted, stoutly.
"I do love it, and I bet I could find a treasure island if I tried."

Judy stamped her foot impatiently. "Oh, you couldn't," she blazed,
"you couldn't, Tommy Tolliver; you could just go to work like a common
seaman and get your tobacco and your grog, and be frozen and stiff in
the winter storms and hot and weary in the summer ones. But if you
really loved the sea you wouldn't care--you wouldn't care, just so you
could be rocked to sleep by it at night, and wake to hear it ripple
against the sides of the boat--"

"Gee--" said Tommy, open-mouthed at this outburst.

"Tommy," said Launcelot, with a glance at Judy's excited face and at
the trembling hands that could scarcely fasten her hair, "you don't
know a sailboat from a scow."

"I do," cried the indignant Tommy, switching his attention from Judy to
Launcelot, with whom he was deep in the argument when the carriage came.

The Judge read Tommy a little lecture as he welcomed him back, and then
he ordered Perkins to give the runaway something to eat, and thereby
tempered justice with mercy. And as Tommy had expected the scolding
and had not expected the good things, it is to be feared that the
latter made the greater impression.

"And how is my girl?" asked the Judge, beaming on Judy.

"All right," said Judy, and tucked her hand into his, "only I am a
little tired, grandfather."

"Of course you are. Of course you are," said the Judge. "We must go
right home. Perkins and I will sit on the front seat, and you can all
crowd in