ic a muckle sumph, he's no afeard o' onything," said Mrs.
Mackenzie, the dragoon's little drunken wife. "The night o' the storm he
must put his heid above the gangway to spier about it; and sic a glour
as he gied at the sea, I'se never forget to my deein day. 'What's a'
this muckle din?' quo' he. 'Why, man, we are a' like to be drown'd in
the salt brine. It's an awfu' storm,' said my husband--'Come up, an'
lend a han' wi' the ropes.'"

"'The deil may tak' the ropes for what I care,' quo' he; 'I'll no fash
mysel' about ropes, or ony thin' else, the night. I'll jest gang awa'
comfortably to my ain bed, an' tak' it easy.' An' to bed he went, sure
eneugh, though his puir wife was tearing her hair, an' skirlin' for
fear, the hale night."

The pilot, among the stores he brought on board, had nothing so tempting
to Flora as a box of raisins, which Lyndsay purchased for her, and
which were opened for the benefit of all in the cabin.

"You had better put those things out of sight, they'll give you the
cholera," said Boreas. "They wouldn't be so bad in a pudding," he
continued musingly--"Suppose you give some of them to Hanibal, to make
into a plum-pudding. There is some flour left; it's a little musty, to
be sure, but hungry dogs--you know the rest."

Flora piqued herself on making a good plum-pudding; she volunteered to
prepare it for the cook, and Sam Fraser provided her with flour, water,
and a board and pudding bag.

"I want eggs, Sam."

"Eggs, Ma'am?--no eggs to be had."

"Milk."

"The cow arn't calved that' to pervide that."

"Well, get me some suet."

"None in the ship. Only a little rancid butter."

"Take away the flour and the board. The idea of making a plum-pudding
out of putrid water, musty flour, and raisins, is too ridiculous."

"Give me some of the raisins," said Sam, "and Hanibal will make a sea
plum-pudding."

"I wonder what it will be like!" And Flora laughed, as she gave him as
many raisins as he required.

It was amusing to watch the Captain at dinner, playing the petty tyrant
over the poor French pilot, on to whose plate he chucked the outside
slice of the hard, tough beef, as if he had been throwing a bone to a
dog.

The pilot showed his white teeth, and his dark eyes blazed as he flashed
them full in the Captain's face, and, throwing the meat back into the
dish, he strode from the table.

"Brother," said Collins, a name he seldom applied to the Captain, and
only when he wished to impr