mewhat into my considerations.

Next morning while we were at breakfast, and my father was looking over
the newspaper, he exclaimed. "We are in luck, Jack! Did you not say
that the name of the Russian frigate which picked you up was the
_Alexander_? I see that she has just arrived at Spithead, from China
and the Western Pacific. If so, there is not a moment to be lost, for
she will probably be off again in a few days. You must start at once.
Get your sisters to pack up such of your brother's things as will fit
you, and I'll order a post-chaise to the door immediately."

"I shall be ready, sir, directly I have swallowed another egg or two,
and a few more slices of toast," I answered. "Munch must go with you,
that there may be no mistake about the matter," said my father. "He
will be of great assistance."

All seemed like a dream. In a quarter of an hour I was rattling away as
fast as a couple of posters could go, along the road to London. I sat
in a dignified and luxurious manner, feeling myself a person of no
little consequence--remembering that, at the same hour on the previous
day, I had been trudging along the road ragged and hungry, with some
doubt as to the reception I was to meet with at home. My tongue was
kept going all the time, for Munch wished to hear all about my
adventures. "Well, Master Jack, I am glad to have you back," he said.
"To tell the truth, my conscience was a little uncomfortable at the part
I had taken in shipping you off on board the collier, though I might
have known--" he cast a quizzical look at me--"that those are never
drowned who--"

"Born to end their lives comfortably in bed," I added, interrupting him.
"You needn't finish the sentence in the way you were about to do; I was
never much of a favourite of yours, Mr Munch, I know."

"I hope we shall be better friends in future, Master Jack," he remarked.
"You used, you know, to try my temper not a little sometimes."

As the old clerk was accustomed to long and sudden journeys, we stopped
nowhere, except for a few minutes to get refreshments, till we rattled
up to the George Inn at Portsmouth.

Much to our satisfaction, we heard from the waiter that the Russian
frigate was still at Spithead, and as the weather was fine, we hurried
down the High Street, intending at once to engage a wherry and go off to
her. As we reached the point a man-of-war's boat pulled up, and several
officers stepped on shore. "That is not the Engli