vages, an' scrimmages, an' footprints, an'--see here!
That's a pictur of him in his hairy dress, wi' his goat, an' parrot, an'
the umbrellar as he made hisself, a-lookin' at the footprint on the
sand."

The picture, coupled with Bob Lumsden's graphic description, had the
desired effect. His little friend's interest was aroused, and Pat
finally accepted the book, with a promise to read it carefully when he
should find time.

"But of that," added Pat, "I ain't got too much on hand."

"You've got all that's of it--four and twenty hours, haven't you?"
demanded his friend.

"True, Bob, but it's the _spare_ time I'm short of. Howsever, I'll do
my best."

While this literary conversation was going on beside the boat, the
visitors to the _Sunbeam_ had been provided with a good supply of food
for the mind as well as ease and comfort for the body, and you may be
very sure that the skipper and his men, all of whom were Christians, did
not fail in regard to the main part of their mission, namely, to drop in
seeds of truth as they found occasion, which might afterwards bear fruit
to the glory of God and the good of man.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE FIRST FIGHT AND VICTORY.

There was on board the _Sunbeam_, on this her first voyage, a tall,
broad-shouldered, but delicate-looking young man, with a most woebegone
expression and a yellowish-green countenance. To look at him was to
pronounce him a melancholy misanthrope--a man of no heart or
imagination.

Never before, probably, did a man's looks so belie his true character.
This youth was an enthusiast; an eager, earnest, hearty Christian, full
of love to his Master and to all mankind, and a student for the
ministry. But John Binning had broken down from over-study, and at the
time we introduce him to the reader he was still further "down" with
that most horrible complaint, sea-sickness.

Even when in the depth of his woe at this time, some flashes of
Binning's true spirit gleamed fitfully through his misery. One of those
gleams was on the occasion of Dick Martin being rescued. Up to that
period, since leaving Yarmouth, Binning had lain flat on his back. On
hearing of the accident and the rescue he had turned out manfully and
tried to speak to the rescued man, but indescribable sensations quickly
forced him to retire. Again, when the first visitors began to sing one
of his favourite hymns, he leaped up with a thrill of emotion in his
heart, but somehow the thrill went t