he Marquesas Islands, for all her knees and stringers are
of _ngiia_ wood (_lignum vitae_) cut in the Marquesan fashion, and
set so closely together that any one would think she was meant for a
Greenland whaler. Then there is another thing about her that you will
notice, and which makes me feel sure that she was built by a whaleman,
and that is the carvings of whales on each end of the windlass barrel,
and on every deck stanchion there are the same, although you can hardly
see them now--they are so much covered up by yearly coatings of paint
for over a dozen years."

Meredith rose suddenly from his seat. "You'll excuse me, but I feel
tired, and must turn in." The visitor took the hint, and did not stay.
Wishing the partners good luck, he got into his boat, and pushed off for
the shore. Then Meredith turned to Marsh, and said quietly:--"Marsh, I
know that you can trust Ali, but what of Tofia?"

"He's all right, I think. But what is the matter?" "I'll let you know
presently. But first tell Tofia that he had better go on shore to
sleep. You and I are going to have a quiet talk, and then do a little
overhauling of this cabin."

Wondering what possibly was afoot, Marsh got rid of the friendly chief
by asking him to go on shore and buy some fresh provisions, but not to
trouble about bringing them off until daylight, as he and his partner
were tired, and wanted to turn in.

Leaving Ali on deck to keep watch, the two men went below, and sat down
at the cabin table.

"Marsh," began the young American, "I have a mighty queer yarn to tell
you--I know that this schooner, once the _Meta_, and now _The Dove_, was
originally the _Juliette_, and was built by my father at Nukahiva in the
Marquesas. Now, I'll get through the story as quickly as possible, but
as I don't want to be interrupted I'll ask Ali not to let any chance
visitor come aboard to-night."

He went on deck, and on returning first filled and lit his pipe in his
cool, leisurely manner, and resumed his story.

"My father, as I one day told you, was a whaling skipper, and was lost
at sea about thirteen years ago--that is all I ever did say about him, I
think. He was a hard old man, and there was no love between us, so that
is why I have not spoken of him. He used me very roughly, and when
my mother died I left him after a stormy scene. That was eighteen or
nineteen years ago, and I never saw him again.

"When my poor mother died, he sold his ship and went to the Mar