had come aboard, and I noticed Trunnell's sly wink as he glanced in
the direction of the mizzen.

"Mr. Rolling," said he, "wimmen have been my ruin. Yes, sir, wimmen have
been my ruin, an' I'm that scared o' them I can raise them afore their
topmast is above the horizon. Sink me, if that ain't one." And he leered
at the figure of the third mate, whom we knew as Mr. Bell.

"What would a woman be doing here as third mate?" I asked; for although I
had come to the same conclusion some days before, I had said nothing to
any one about it.

"That's the old man's affair," said Trunnell; "it may be his wife, or it
may be his daughter, but any one can see that the fellow's pants are
entirely too big in the heft for a man. An' his voice! Sink me, Rolling,
but you never hearn tell of a man or boy pipin' so soft like. Why, it
skeers me to listen to it. It's just like--but no matter."

"Like what?" I suggested gently, hoping much.

But it was of no use. Trunnell looked at me queerly for a moment as if
undecided to give me his confidence. Then he resumed his walk athwart the
deck, and I went forward to the break of the poop and took a look at the
head sails.

The night was growing darker, and the breeze was dying slowly, and I
wondered why the skipper had not come on deck to take a look around. He
was usually on hand during the earlier hours of evening.

I reached the side of the third officer, and stood silently gazing at the
canvas which shone dimly through the gathering gloom. As we had always
been separated on account of being in different watches, I had never
addressed the third mate before save in a general way when reporting the
ship's duties aft.

"Pretty dark night, hey?" I ventured.

The third officer looked hard at me for the space of a minute, during
which time his face underwent many changes of expression. Then he
answered in a smooth, even tone.

"Sorter," said he.

This was hardly what I expected, so I ventured again.

"Looks as if we might have a spell o' weather, hey? The wind's falling
all the time, and if it keeps on, we'll have a calm night without a
draught of air."

"What do you mean by a ca'm night without a draft of air?" asked the
young fellow, in a superior tone, while at the same time I detected a
smile lurking about the corners of his eyes.

If there's one thing I hate to see in a young fellow, it is the
desire to make fun of a superior's conversation. Being an American
sailor, I had litt