rs bore her. In her homeliness she presented a strange contrast to
her surroundings. In the composition of those who were her occupants
there was still greater difference. The men who trod the decks of the
yachts were seekers after the pleasures of life, while those on board
the _Gem_ were engaged in the hard struggle to win bread for the loved
ones who were miles and miles removed--living in want, perhaps, yet
hoping for the best and for what expectancy would realize. The one set
comprised the lucky ones of fortune--the butterflies of fashion; the
other the strugglers for life--the vagabonds of fate. Yet these
vagabonds had homes and mothers, wives and children, to whom the rough,
sun-browned, coarsely clad men of the _Gem of the Ocean_ were their all,
their world, and on the exertion of whose hands and brain they depended
for food, raiment, and shelter. These poor strolling players had
homes,--humble, it is true,--but still they were homes, which they loved
for the sake of the dear ones harbored there.

The forenoon was spent in letter writing. How eagerly these letters were
longed for only those who hungered for tidings from absent loved ones
can explain. There is a magic influence in these silent messengers.
Freighted with consolation, joy, or sorrow, they are anxiously awaited.
How much happiness do they not bring into a home when laden with words
of tenderness and affection! Home! ah, he is indeed no vagabond who has
a home, however modest, and dear ones awaiting to welcome him when he
returns, tired and weary with his struggle in the race for advancement.

Before midday the occupation of the morning was completed, and after a
hearty meal the company gathered aft to pass away the time and talk over
the past as well as to ventilate the prospects for the future. They were
enjoying one day's rest, at least. Seated in the companionway was Handy,
the high priest of the little organization.

"Do you think, gentlemen, on mature reconsideration," began Handy, "we
might take another shy at 'Uncle Tom,' and do business?"

The subject was thrown out for general discussion. The Little 'Un was
the first to respond. He had been an _Uncle Tommer_ for years, and his
views consequently on the matter were regarded with consideration.

"Gentlemen," he commenced, "the 'Uncle Tom' times are dead and gone. The
play has had its day. To be sure, if it was resurrected and put on with
what might be called an elaborate presentation, with