er, will be the best chart and compass to guide you safely
through them all."

"My dear uncle," replied Ned, with emotion, "perhaps the best promise I
can make is to assure you that I will endeavour to do, in all things and
at all times, as you have taught me, ever since I was a little boy. If
I succeed, I feel assured that I shall do well."

A long and earnest conversation ensued between the uncle and nephew,
which was interrupted at last, by the arrival of the boat at Gravesend.
Jumping into a wherry, they pushed off, and were soon alongside of the
_Roving Bess_, a barque of about eight hundred tons burden, and,
according to Captain Bunting, "an excellent sea-boat."

"Catch hold o' the man-ropes," cried the last-named worthy, looking over
the side; "that's it; now then, jump! all right! How are ye, kinsman?
Glad to see you, Ned. I was afraid you were goin' to give me the slip."

"I have not kept you waiting, have I?" inquired Ned.

"Yes, you have, youngster," replied the captain, with a facetious wink,
as he ushered his friends into the cabin, and set a tray of broken
biscuit and a decanter of wine before them. "The wind has been blowin'
off shore the whole morning, and the good ship has been straining at a
short cable like a hound chained up. But we'll be off now in another
half-hour."

"So soon?" said Mr Shirley, with an anxious expression on his kind old
face.

"All ready to heave up the anchor, sir," shouted the first mate down the
companion.

The captain sprang on deck, and soon after the metallic clatter of the
windlass rang a cheerful accompaniment to the chorus of the sailors.
One by one the white sails spread out to the breeze, and the noble ship
began to glide through the water.

In a few minutes more the last words were spoken, the last farewell
uttered, and Mr Shirley stood alone in the stern-sheet of the little
boat, watching the departing vessel as she gathered way before the
freshening breeze. As long as the boat was visible Ned Sinton stood on
the ship's bulwarks, holding on to the mizzen shrouds, and waving his
handkerchief from time to time. The old man stood with his head
uncovered, and his thin locks waving in the wind.

Soon the boat was lost to view. Our hero brushed away a tear, and
leaped upon the deck, where the little world, of which for many days to
come he was to form a part, busied itself in making preparation for a
long, long voyage. The British Channel was passed; th