eauty on all sides, even to his very feet. The only thing which seemed
repellent to Carey was the growing heap of pearl shells, and the work
upon which Bostock was engaged, which the boy looked upon with disgust.

"Bah!" he exclaimed at last; "you're a regular oyster butcher, Bob.
It's horribly messy."

"Don't you call things by ugly names, Master Carey," said the old man,
stolidly. "Butchers aren't a nice trade sartinly, but think of the
consekenses. Think on it, my lad. Who's got a word to say agin the
butcher when there's a prime joint o' juicy roast beef on the table,
with the brown fat and rich gravy. Ah! it seems sad, it do."

"What, to kill the oxen?"

"Nay, not it. They was made to be killed. I meant having all that
beautiful stock o' coal on board, and the cook's stove ready, and no
beef to roast. There, you needn't look at my messy hands; I shall wash
'em when I've done. You look at the insides of them big shells; they're
just like to-morrow morning when you've got the watch on deck and the
sun's just going to rise. I've seen the sky like that lots o' times,
all silver and gold, and pale blue and grey. I say, seems a pity; we've
got lots o' crockery ware in the stooard's place. Them shells would
make lovely plates, painted ten hunderd times better than those we've
got aboard. It's just as if natur had made 'em o' purpose. Just think
of it eating--or drinking: which do you call it?--soup, oyster soup, out
of an oyster shell, enjoying the look o' the shell with your eyes.
There, that's the last of 'em," he continued, as he wrenched open the
last pair of shells.

"But I expected we were going to get some pearls as well, and out of
these twenty great oysters you haven't got one."

"Haven't I?" cried the old sailor, with a hearty chuckle. "Just you
feel here."

"I'm not going to mess my hand with the nasty thing," said Carey, with a
look of disgust.

"Who wants you to, sir? Only wants the tip o' one finger. Here you
are. Yes, and here, and here. I say, what do you think of that?" cried
the old fellow, reaching out the shell he held. "Just one finger and
you'll feel 'em, nubbly like."

"Pearls!" cried Carey, excitedly, and, forgetting all about the
messiness of the great wet shapeless-looking mollusc, he used both
finger and thumb. "Here, cut them out."

This was soon done, and the boy sat with his face flushed, gazing with
delight at three beautifully lustrous pearls lying in the pa