y tough in the 'ands, but
you couldn't 'old a candle to Bob Massey at that--Yes, yes, Nellie, I
'ear you, but la! what does it matter 'ow your 'air an' things is
deranged w'en you're wrecked at sea and--"

The abrupt disappearance of the dishevelled head at that moment
suggested the idea that Mrs Mitford had either fallen backward suddenly
or been pulled under cover by her companions.

"She's all right, anyhow," said O'Connor, adjusting his oar.

"She's always all right," remarked Mitford in a funereal tone, which,
however, was meant to be confidential. "Bless your heart, I've seen
that woman under all circumstances, but although she's timid by nature,
an' not over strong in body, I've never seen her give in or fairly cast
down. No doubt she was pretty low last night, poor thing, but that was
'cause she was nigh dead wi' cold--yet her spirit wasn't crushed. It's
my solemn conviction that if my Peggy ever dies at all she'll die game."

With a profound sigh of satisfaction at having thus borne testimony to
the rare and admirable qualities of his wife, the worthy man applied
himself to his oar with redoubled vigour.

It is quite a pleasure in this censorious world to see any man
absolutely blind to his wife's faults, and thoroughly awake to her good
qualities. The opinion formed of Peggy--by Mrs Massey and Mrs Hayward
respectively, did not quite coincide with that of John Mitford.

"How did you get on with poor Peggy last night, Eva?" asked Dr Hayward
of his wife, in an undertone, as they breakfasted that forenoon beside
the tiller, while the rest of their companions were similarly engaged in
the middle of the boat, and at the bow.

"Pretty well, Tom, but she's troublesome to manage. She is so unusually
timid, poor creature, so prone to give way to despair when things look
bad, yet so sweetly apt to bound into high spirits when things are
looking hopeful,--and withal, so amusingly garrulous!"

Strange to say, at the very moment that this was uttered, Nellie was
remarking to her husband in a low tone that, "poor Peggy was quite a
puzzle, that she was all but dead at one moment, and quite lively at
another, that she professed to be all submission, but was as obstinate
as a pig, and that her tongue--soft though it was--went like the clapper
of a mill!"

We have referred to breakfast, but the meal spread before the castaways
hardly merits that name, for it consisted of only a small slice of pork
to each; a few p