being on a subject which Bob
and Joe had already made interesting to the steerage passengers. And
the lecturer not only treated it well, but was himself such a fine,
lion-like, yet soft-voiced fellow that his audience were quite charmed.

Soon the _Lapwing_ was gliding through the warm waters of the equatorial
seas, and those of the passengers who had never visited such regions
before, were immensely interested by the sight of dolphins, sharks, and
especially flying-fish.

"I _don't_ believe in 'em," said Mrs Mitford to Mrs Massey one day as
they stood looking over the side of the ship.

"I do believe in 'em," said Mrs Massey, "because my Bob says he has
seen 'em."

Not long after this double assertion of opinion there was a sudden cry
that flying-fish were to be seen alongside, and Mrs Mitford actually
beheld them with her own eyes leap out of the sea, skim over the waves a
short distance, and then drop into the water again; still she was
incredulous! "Flyin'" she exclaimed, "nothin' of the sort; they only
made a long jump out o' the water, an' wriggled their tails as they
went; at least they wriggled something, for I couldn't be rightly sure
they _'ad_ tails to wriggle, any more than wings--never 'avin' seen 'em
except in pictures, which is mostly lies. Indeed!"

"Look-out!" exclaimed Slag at the moment, for a couple of fish flew over
the bulwarks just then, and fell on deck almost at Mrs Mitford's feet.
When she saw them there floundering about, wings and all, she felt
constrained to give in.

"Well, well," she said, raising her hands and eyes to heaven, as though
she addressed her remarks chiefly to celestial ears, "did ever mortal
see the likes? Fish wi' wings an' no feathers! I'll believe _anything_
after that!"

Peggy Mitford is not the first, and won't be the last woman--to say
nothing of man--who has thus bounded from the depths of scepticism to
the heights of credulity.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER 5.

Dr Hayward, who had given great satisfaction with his lecture,
possessed so much urbanity and power of anecdote and song, that he soon
became a general favourite alike with steerage and cabin passengers.

One sultry forenoon Terrence O'Connor, the assistant steward, went aft
and whispered to him that Ian Stuart, the sick boy, wanted very much to
see him.

"I think he's dying, sor," said Terrence, in a low tone.

"Has the doctor seen him this morning?" asked Hayward, as he rose
quickly and hurried