uldered man shook his head mournfully, and taking out a
steel tobacco-box he opened it and cut off a piece of black, pressed
weed, to transfer to his cheek, as he again shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Master Sydney," he said.

"Why?"

"'Cause it's agen nature. I'm sixty-two now, and from the time I was a
little shaver right up to now I never heerd a well-grown, strong,
good-looking young chap say he didn't want to go to sea."

"Ah, well, Barney, you've heard one now."

"Ay, ay! and mighty sorry too, sir. Why, there have been times when
I've said to myself, `Maybe when the young master gets his promotion and
a ship of his own, he'll come and say to me, Now then, Barney, now's
your time to get rid o' the rust; I'll get you painted and scraped, and
you shall come to sea with me.'"

"You, Barney? You are too old now. What would you be then?"

"Old! Old! Get out! I don't call myself old by a long way, Master
Syd; and if it hadn't been for the captain laying up I should ha' been
at sea now. But you'll think better on it, sir; you'll go."

"What, to sea, Barney?"

"Ay, sir."

"No; I mean to be a doctor."

"Then I says it again as I said it afore, Master Syd, there's something
the matter with you."

"Matter? Nonsense! What do you mean?"

"Why, what you say sounds so gal-ish and soft, it makes me think as you
must have ketched something going out with the doctor."

"What rubbish, Barney!"

"But you going to be a doctor!" cried the old sailor, rubbing his nose
with a great gnarled finger. "You, who might be an admiral and command
a squadron: no, sir, it won't do."

"It will have to do, Barney."

"Well, sir, it mought and it moughtn't; but it strikes me as you've got
something coming on, sir, as is a weakening your head--measles, or
fever, or such-like--or you wouldn't talk as you do about the Ryle
Navee."

"I talk about it as I do because I don't want to go to sea."

"But it's a flying in the face of the skipper and the admiral. Bobstays
and chocks! I wish I was your age and got the chance o' going instead
o' being always ashore here plarntin' the cabbages and pulling up the
weeds."

"Then you don't like being a gardener, Barney?"

"I 'ates it, sir."

"And so do I hate being a sailor. There!"

"But it's so onnat'ral, sir. Here's your father been a sailor, same as
I've been a sailor, and I've drilled up Pan-a-mar o' purpose to be
useful to you in the same ship. Why, it