eaving billows of the restless ocean; but, as Archie remarked, he was
fast getting broke in.

The incidents which we have mentioned, however, were but the
commencement of a series of disasters to poor Jenkins, which went far to
cure him of a desire to excel in the "noo purfession," and to induce a
somewhat violent longing for a return to his first love, the ocean.

"I can't think what ever could have made you want to come out here,"
said Archie, as they continued to follow up the still distant hunters.

"What was it made yourself want to come out, lad?" asked the sailor.

"It wasn't me that wanted to come. It was father, you know, an' of
course I had to follow," said the boy in a tone which induced his friend
to say hastily, and in a tone of sympathy--

"Ah, poor lad, I forgot you was a orphing. Well, you see, I think it
must ha' bin a love o' change or a love o' discontent, or suthin' o'
that sort, as brought me cruising in these here waters, for I can't say
what else it was. You see I was born a sort o' ro-oh--"

"Look out! a badger-hole!" shouted the boy.

His warning would have been too late, but the chestnut fortunately
leaped over the danger instead of stumbling into it, and its rider was
only partially shaken out of his seat.

"It's well," he said, when fairly settled down again to an easy gallop,
"that the tiller-ropes are stout else I'd ha' bin over the starn this
time instead of out on the bowsprit. Let me see, what was I sayin' of?"

"Somethin' about your bein' born a sort of `ro-oh--,' though what _that_
may be I haven't a notion."

"Ah! jist so--I was born a sort o' rover (when this long-legged brute
took the badger-hole), an' I've bin to every quarter o' the globe
a'most, but if I'd lived to the age o' Methooslum I'd never ha' thought
o' comin' here,--for the good reason that I knowed nothin' o' its
existence,--if I hadn't by chance in a furrin port fallen in wi' Andre
Morel, an' took an uncommon fancy to him. You see, at the time, I was--
well, I was no better nor I should be; p'raps a deal wuss, an' Morel he
meets me, an' says--`Hallo, my lad,' says he, `where away?'

"I looked at him gruff-like a moment or two, for it seemed to me he was
raither too familiar for a stranger, but he's got such a pleasant,
hearty look with him--as you know--that I couldn't feel riled with 'im,
so `I'm goin' on the spree,' says I.

"`All right,' says he, `I'm with 'ee, lad. D'ye know the town?'

"`No mor