dollars and a quarter to Mr.---what name, please?
Elder. Oh yes; good old name, and one you can live up to more and more
every day of your life. John, pick out a hundred of the best for Mr.
Elder."

The oranges selected by John were such beauties that neither Mark nor
his mother regretted the extra quarter paid for them. After that,
during the rest of their stay in Key West, whenever Mark went near a
fruit auction he was addressed politely by the auctioneer as "Mr.
Elder," and invited to examine the goods offered for sale that day.

One day Mark and Ruth rowed out among the vessels of the sponging fleet
that had just come in from up the coast. Here they scraped acquaintance
with a weather-beaten old sponger, who sat in the stern of one of the
smallest of the boats, smoking a short pipe and overhauling some
rigging; and from him they gained much new information concerning
sponges.

"We gets them all along the reef as far as Key Biscayne," said the old
sponger; "but the best comes from Rock Island, up the coast nigh to St.
Mark's."

"Why, that's where we're going!" interrupted Ruth.

"Be you, sissy? Wal, you'll see a plenty raked up there, I reckon. Did
you ever hear tell of a water-glass?"

"No," said Ruth, "I never did."

"Wal," said the old man, "here's one; maybe you'd like to look through
it." And he showed them what looked like a wooden bucket with a glass
bottom. "Jest take an' hold it a leetle ways down into the water and
see what you can see."

Taking the bucket which was held out to her, Ruth did as the old man
directed, and uttered an exclamation of delight. "Why, I can see the
bottom just as plain as looking through a window."

"To be sure," said the old sponger; "an' that's the way we sees the
sponges lying on the bottom. An' when we sees 'em we takes those
long-handled rakes there an' hauls 'em up to the top. When they fust
comes up they's plumb black, and about the nastiest things you ever did
see, I reckon. We throws 'em into crawls built in shallow water, an'
lets 'em rot till all the animal matter is dead, an' we stirs 'em up an
beats 'em with sticks to get it out. Then they has to be washed an'
dried an' trimmed, an' handled consider'ble, afore they's ready for
market. Then they's sold at auction."

The sponge crawls of which the old man spoke are square pens make of
stakes driven into the sand side by side, and as close as possible
together. In some of them at Key West Mark and Ruth saw l