gave a
gulp, then sniffed very loudly. "Wish you wouldn't talk about home."

Don smiled sadly, and they were separated directly after.

The time went swiftly on in their busy life, and though his absence from
home could only be counted in months, Don had shot up and altered
wonderfully. They had touched at the Cape, at Ceylon, and then made a
short stay at Singapore before going on to their station farther east,
and cruising to and fro.

During that period Don's experience had been varied, but the opportunity
he was always looking for did not seem to come.

Then a year had passed away, and they were back at Singapore, where
letters reached both, and made them go about the deck looking depressed
for the rest of the week.

Then came one morning when there was no little excitement on board, the
news having oozed out that the sloop was bound for New Zealand, a place
in those days little known, save as a wonderful country of tree-fern,
pine, and volcano, where the natives were a fierce fighting race, and
did not scruple to eat those whom they took captive in war.

"Noo Zealand, eh?" said Jem.

"Port Jackson and Botany Bay, I hear, Jem, and then on to New Zealand.
We shall see something of the world."

"Ay, so we shall, Mas' Don. Bot'ny Bay! That's where they sends the
chaps they transports, arn't it?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then we shall be like transported ones when we get there. You're
right, after all, Mas' Don. First chance there is, let me and you give
up sailoring, and go ashore."

"I mean to, Jem; and somehow, come what may, we will."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A NATURALISED NEW ZEALANDER.

Three months had passed since the conversation in the last chapter, when
after an adverse voyage from Port Jackson, His Majesty's sloop-of-war
under shortened sail made her way slowly towards what was in those days
a land of mystery.

A stiff breeze was blowing, and the watch were on deck, ready for
reducing sail or any emergency. More were ready in the tops, and all on
board watching the glorious scene unfolding before them.

"I say, Mas' Don, look ye there," whispered Jem, as they sat together in
the foretop. "If this don't beat Bristol, I'm a Dutchman."

"Beat Bristol!" said Don contemptuously; "why, it's as different as can
be."

"Well, I dunno so much about that," said Jem. "There's that mountain
yonder smoking puts one in mind of a factory chimney. And look yonder
too!--there's another one smoki