with the pathetic sincerity of his expression,
drew forth. Again and again he tried to speak, but his innocent look
and his mighty shoulders, and tender voice, with the thoughts of that
"blessed babby," were too much for his mates, so that he was obliged to
finish off by shouting in a voice of thunder--"Let's drink success to
SHORT BLUE COTTAGE!" and, with a toss of his hand in the true North
Sea-salute style, sat down in a tempest of applause.

"Yes," as an Irish fisherman remarked, "it was a great day intoirely,"
that day at _Short Blue Cottage_, and as no description can do it full
justice, we will turn to other matters--remarking, however, before
quitting the subject, that we do not tell the reader the exact spot
where the cottage is situated, as publicity on this point might subject
our modest captain to much inconvenience!

"Billy," said Captain Bream one day, a few months after the wedding-day
just described, "come with me to the Theological Library; I want to have
a chat with 'ee, lad."

Billy followed his new-found uncle, and sat down opposite to him.

"Now, lad, the time has come when you and I must have it out. You're
fond o' hard work, I'm told."

"Well, uncle, I won't say as I'm exactly fond of it, but I don't object
to it."

"So far good," returned the captain. "Well, you know I'm your uncle,
an' I've got a goodish lot of tin, an' I'm goin' to leave the most of it
to your mother--for she's the only relation I have on earth,--but you
needn't expect that I'm goin' to leave it to _you_ after her."

"I never said as I _did_ expect that, uncle," said Billy with such a
straightforward look of simplicity that the captain burst into one of
his thundering laughs.

"Good, my boy," he said, in a more confidential tone. "Well, then, this
is how the matter stands. I've long held the opinion that those who
_can_ work _should_ work, and that all or nearly all the cash that
people have to spare should be given or left to those who _can't_ work--
such as poor invalids--specially women--and those who have come to grief
one way or another, and lost the use o' their limbs."

"Right you are, uncle," said Billy with strong emphasis.

"Glad you agree so heartily, boy. Well, that bein' so, I mean to leave
the interest of all that I have to your dear mother as long as she
lives--except a legacy to the Miss Seawards and some other poor folk
that I know of. Meanwhile, they have agreed, as long as I live, to stay
w