he _Mirabelle_," he
said.

While looking about him, Chris glanced more than once at Amos. The
colored boy's brilliant foreign costume was very noticeable, his
friend thought, but when no one paid any attention, Chris decided
Amos's clothes were not unfamiliar to the seafaring men among whom
they were walking.

A ship had just come in, the sailors browned and cheerful at being
once more in their home port. Merchants in coats of fine but sober
cloth were talking with the captain and mate, while they kept an eye
on the cargo being laboriously unloaded by stevedores.

For some time Chris and Amos stood watching the men carrying out bales
or kegs on their shoulders. When one part of the cargo had been
assembled on the dock, an auction was held forthwith to sell it off at
once to the highest bidder.

Listening and looking, Chris saw bolts of silk, hardware, china, wines
and liquors, needles and pins--all manner of things auctioned and
sold. The ship, American-owned, had come from England, and Chris
overheard one man say to another: "See there, the thin man. That be
Mr. Mason's agent. I heard he's here to buy the ballast bricks for his
master's plantation on the island."

Chris, not understanding, asked, "Ballast bricks? Please sir, what's
that?"

The men, astounded to be interrupted by a boy, and looking down to see
two, each with an apple in his hands, turned around, and after a
moment's scrutiny, answered.

"Ballast bricks? Why, anyone knows that these are the bricks brought
over in the hold, my lad, should there not be sufficient cargo, both
to make ballast for the vessel and to sell once here. English bricks
are cheaper than those we can make ourselves. Did you not know, young
man," he said, frowning with disapproval, "that our bricks for
building houses have all come from British kilns?"

"No sir, thank you sir," Chris said, and moved away, not in the least
abashed.

How I should have loved to have told him I didn't belong in this age
anyway, and that in _my_ time, we _do_ make our own bricks! he
chuckled to himself.

Further on, a ship being painted a dazzling white caught their eyes.

"The _Mirabelle_!" Chris cried, running forward, and sure enough,
black and gold letters along her bow pronounced that indeed it was the
_Mirabelle_.

"I'd know those lines anywhere!" Chris said to Amos, and the two boys
stood gazing at Mr. Wicker's ship.

The _Mirabelle_ was a three-masted schooner of more than usually