mention captings in
the Royal Navy, an' not sich a bad feller after all, as won't have his
liberty on no account wotiver, even if it was gived to him for nothin',
and yet wot can't get it if he wanted it iver so much; and to think that
Jo Bumpus should come for to lend hisself to--Hallo! Jo, back yer
tops'ls! Didn't Henry tell ye that ye wasn't to convarse upon that there
last matter even with yerself, for fear o' bein' overheard and sp'ilin'
the whole affair? Come, I'll refresh myself."

The refreshment in which Jo proposed to indulge was of a peculiar kind
which never failed him,--it was the perusal of Susan's love-letter.

He now sat up, drew forth the precious and much-soiled epistle, unfolded
and spread it out carefully on his knees, placed his pipe very much on
one side of his mouth, in order that the smoke might not interfere with
his vision, and began to read.

"'_Peeler's Farm_,'--ah! Susan, darlin', it's Jo Bumpus as would give
all he has in the world, includin' his Sunday clo's, to be anchored
alongside o' ye at that same farm!--'_Sanfransko_.' I misdoubt the
spellin' o' that word, Susan, dear; it seems to me raither short, as if
ye'd docked off its tail. Howsomdever--'_For John bumpuss_'--O Susan,
Susan! if ye'd only remember the big B, and there ain't two esses. I'm
sure it's not for want o'tellin' ye, but ye was never great in the way
ov memry or spellin'. Pr'aps it's as well. Ye'd ha' bin too perfect, an'
that's not desirable by no means,--'_my darlin' Jo_,'--ay, _them's_ the
words. It's that as sets my 'art a b'ilin' over like."

Here Jo raised his eyes from the letter, and revelled silently in the
thought for at least two minutes, during which his pipe did double duty
in half its usual time. Then he recurred to his theme; but some parts he
read in silence, and without audible comment.

"Aye," said he, "'_sandle-wood skooners, the Haf ov thems pirits_'--so
they is, Susan. It's yer powers o' prophesy as amazes me; '_an' The
other hafs no beter_;' a deal wus, Susan, if ye only know'd it. Ah! my
sweet gal, if ye knew wot a grief that word '_beter_' was to me before I
diskivered wot it wos, ye'd try to improve yer hand o' write, an' make
fewer blots!"

At this point Jo was arrested by the sound of footsteps behind him. He
folded up his letter precipitately, thrust it into his left
breast-pocket, and jumped up with a guilty air about him.

"Why, Bumpus! we have startled you out of a morning nap, I fea