pass his latitude oftener than other ships, they say."

"You are then a cruiser of some service, in the brigantine--no doubt you
have trod many distant shores, belonging to so swift a craft."

"I!--I never was on the land!" returned the boy, thoughtfully. "It must be
droll to be there; they say, one can hardly walk, it is so steady! I put a
question to the sea-green lady before we came to this narrow inlet, to
know when I was to go ashore."

"And she answered?"

"It was some time, first. Two watches were past before a word was to be
seen; but at last I got the lines. I believe she mocked me, though I have
never dared show it to my master, that he might say."

"Hast the words, here?--perhaps we might assist thee, as there are some
among us who know most of the sea-paths."

The boy looked timidly and suspiciously around, and thrusting a hand
hurriedly into a pocket, he drew forth two bits of paper, each of which
contained a scrawl, and both of which had evidently been much thumbed and
studied.

"Here," he said, in a voice that was suppressed nearly to a whisper. "This
was on the first page. I was so frightened, lest the lady should be angry,
that I did not look again till the next watch; and then," turning the
leaf, "I found this."

Ludlow took the bit of paper first offered, and read, written in a
child's hand, the following extract:

"I pray thee
Remember, I have done thee worthy service;
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd
Without or grudge or grumblings."

"I thought that 'twas in mockery," continued the boy, when he saw by the
eye of the young captain that he had read the quotation; 'for 'twas very
like, though more prettily worded, than that which I had said, myself!"

"And that was the second answer?"

"This was found in the first morning-watch," the child returned, reading
the second extract himself:

"Thou think'st
It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep,
And run upon the sharp wind of the north!"

"I never dared to ask again. But what matters that? They say, the ground
is rough and difficult to walk on; that earthquakes shake it, and make
holes to swallow cities; that men slay each other on the highways for
money, and that the houses I see on the hills must always remain in the
same spot. It must be very melancholy to live always in the same spot; but
then it must be odd, never to feel a motion!"

"Except the occ