em things to us?
Can't you understand that the love of God in the heart makes men and
women wish to try to keep God's commandments by bein' kind to one
another, an' considering the poor, an' feedin' the hungry, an' clothin'
the naked?"

"Right you are, Fink," said Lockley, with a nod of approval, which was
repeated by several of those around.

"But, I say, you spoke of books, mate," remarked Bob Lumsden, who came
forward at the moment, much to the satisfaction of his little friend Pat
Stiver; "you han't showed us any books yet."

"One thing at a time, boy," returned the mate.

"We've got lots o' books too. Go below, Pat, an' ask the skipper to
send up that big case o' books; say I've about finished givin' out the
mitts an' mufflers."

"Just so, boy," put in his friend Bob; "say that the mate has
distributed the soft goods, an' wants some hard facts now."

"Don't be cheeky, you young rascal!" cried the mate, hitting Bob on the
nose with a well aimed pair of mittens.

"Thankee! On'y them things was meant for the hands not for the nose.
Howsever, I won't quarrel with a gift, no matter what way it comes to
me," retorted Bob, picking up the mitts and putting them in his pocket.

While he was speaking two men brought on deck a large box, which was
quickly opened by the mate. The men crowded around with much interest
and curiosity, for it was the first batch of books that had ever reached
that fleet. The case was stuffed to the lid with old periodicals and
volumes, of every shape, and size, and colour.

"W'y, they've bin an' sent us the whole British Museum, I do believe!"
exclaimed David Duffy, whose younger brother chanced to be a porter in
our great storehouse of literature.

"Here you are, lads!" cried Fink, going down on his knees and pulling
out the contents. "Wollum of _The Leisure Hour, Sunday Magazine_, odd
numbers o' _The Quiver_, wollum of _The Boy's Own Paper, Young England,
Home Words_, and _Good Words_ (to smother our bad words, you know).
There you are, enough to make doctors or professors of every man Jack o'
you, if you'll on'y take it all in."

"Professors!" growled Joe Stubley, who had come on deck, still suffering
from his strange internal complaint. "More like to make fools on us.
Wot do _we_ want wi' books and larnin'!"

"Nothin' wotsumdever," answered Pat Stiver, with a look of the most
patronising insolence. "You're right, Joe, quite right--as you always
are. Smacksmen has got no