wick sailed her in pursuit of his calling.

Story 9--Chapter 2.

There was not a finer lad in the country round than Sir Baldwin's third
son, his blue-eyed, light-haired, merry, laughing boy Harry. When he
came home from school for the summer holidays, Harry declared his fixed
intention of going to sea. Sir Baldwin, after several conversations
with his son, felt convinced that it was his settled wish to enter the
navy, and forthwith set about obtaining a berth for him as a midshipman
on board a man-of-war. There was but little difficulty in doing this;
for, after a short peace, England was again at war with France and Spain
and other countries, and ships were being fitted out as fast as they
could be got ready. Harry was in high glee. The dream of his life was
to be realised. He had not talked about the matter. People often, when
they are very earnest in wishing for a thing, do not talk about it. Sir
Baldwin took him to Plymouth; his outfit was soon procured, and he was
entered on board the _Phoenix_, a dashing 36-gun frigate, destined for
the West India station; a part of the world where there was every chance
of her having plenty of fighting. Captain Butler, her brave commander,
lost no time in getting his crew into an efficient state by exercising
them constantly at their guns, and in shortening and making sail. Harry
Treherne thus rapidly acquired a knowledge of the profession he had
chosen. He had determined to be a good sailor; he gave his mind to the
work, and considered no details beneath his notice; consequently,
everybody was ready to give him instruction; he gained the confidence of
the officers and the respect of the men.

"A sail on the lee bow!" shouted the look-out man at the mast-head.

The cry made the captain and officers on deck turn their glasses in the
direction indicated. The helm was put up, and at length, through the
haze of a warm summer morning, the stranger was discovered, with her
mizen topsail aback and her main topsail shivering, evidently awaiting
the arrival of the _Phoenix_. She was clearly an enemy's frigate,
heavily armed. The _Phoenix_ had been disguised to look as much as
possible like a corvette, a much smaller class of vessel, and it was
more than possible that the Frenchmen might find that they had caught a
Tartar.

"We shall have some glorious fighting," cried little Tommy Butts, the
smallest midshipman on board. "We shall thrash 'em in quarter less no
tim