which fitted Harty tolerably. Hawkins had withdrawn to the deck, grumbling. The captain led the way to his own part of the vessel; Harty followed with difficulty. The captain extended his hand to him now and again, speaking cheerfully at intervals.

"You'll get your sea-legs presently, never fear," he said. When they stood together, where no one could hear their talk, the captain spoke: "See here, my man; this is a bad job; I've heard all about it. I'm sorry it's happened, I can tell you; but it was well meant. might have died if you had been left there."

You

"If I could only let them know at home," broke in Harty. "That's impossible," returned the captain decidedly. "We're far out at sea. It may be months before we have a chance even to do that." A sob burst from the boy.

"It's a bad job," pursued the captain, "but it can be made the best, or the worst of; like most things. Sit down and cry over it-that's making the worst; look the thing in the face, and make up your mind to endure it— that's making the best. You can take your choice, and act accordingly."

The captain moved away from the boy, when he had done speaking, as though to give him time to reflect on what he had said. So sore at heart, so lonely and bewildered did the poor lad feel; he gazed around with such wistful eyes at the wide waste of waters. It seemed as though he could have plunged into the sea, with the poor chance of being washed ashore, near his dear, forsaken home, which, alas! he now felt he might never see again. Yet, even then, the sensible advice of the honest captain was sinking deep into his heart. "Make the best of it,"

something said-" make the best of it." Already something like shame was rising in his mind, to think that he, who had always professed himself so eager for a sailor's life, should have let himself be seen "crying like a girl." When the captain again approached him, Harty humbly asked: "Is there anything I can do? Can I be of any use on the ship?"

"Well!" returned the captain cheerily, "you have made up your mind, I see; I am glad of it."

"I should like to do something," said Harty faintly. "Yes," replied his new friend; "but at present there is not much you can do, I am afraid. You must get your sea-legs on first, you know."

He laughed, and steadied Harty with his hand, as the boy lurched heavily over.

"In a few days you'll get used to this sort of thing. Hi! Sam!"

The boy who had brought the slippers appeared again. "Take Winwood to my cabin. And, do you hear? Keep civil!"

He frowned heavily at the boy, who took Harty by the shoulder and almost carried him below.

The unhappy boy was now fearfully sick. It was his first experience of sea-sickness, and he believed he was dying. Hawkins came up to the captain as the boys quitted him. "I thought you were not going to take that imp another trip with us?" he said.

"I didn't mean to, but he promised to do better; and Sam is a clever hand in a gale."

"And the wickedest young ape ever born," returned the mate.

CHAPTER XVI.

SAM, THE CABIN-BOY.

HARTY was now to learn how different were the realities of a sea-life to what his fancy had painted it.

It was some days before he could even stand, without being thrown violently from side to side, by the rolling of the ship; for they were now far out upon the open sea, not merely coasting a tranquil bay, as Dolly and her aunt had done in the yacht. He was terribly sick, and bruised all over by frequent falls. Added to these miseries, he was laughed at by the sailors; who, though not actually unkind, had been through it all themselves, when young, and saw very little to complain of, in what was utter hardship to the delicately reared boy.

But all this was nothing, compared to the malignity of the cabin-boy, Sam; who deserved to the full the character given him by Hawkins, the mate.

He seemed to have fixed upon the new comer as the especial object of every bad turn and spiteful act he could devise. And all was done with such cunning that detection was almost impossible.

True to his good resolution, Harty had determined on facing his sad misfortune, and making the best of it.

To be employed was his great wish, and, as he was of course ignorant of the duties with which Sam, the cabinboy, was quite conversant, there remained nothing for which he could be made available except to help the cook.

So here was Harty Winwood-the boy who had taken prizes at school, and been foremost in his class-occupied in scraping carrots,

Often and often-when occupied in these degrading duties, or lying awake in the close, ill-smelling bunk he occupied at night-he would go over in his mind the events of that day; he would say to himself, "If I had only gone to school; if I had but been friends with Dolly and aunt when I left, how different all would have been!"

Sometimes the tears came to his eyes, but he never let them fall. He never cried again after that first day; nor spoke of his home, nor his sister, nor aunt, to any one.

"I will bear it all," he said to himself bravely. "I have deserved it, and I'll bear it, if I die !"

So, you see, Harty was already learning something from his troubles. He was learning to be manly and courageous. The captain took heed of him quietly, though he did not say much; but one day he called Harty to him.

"I'm glad, Winwood," he said, "to see that you are getting reconciled to what can't be helped. It shows your sense; you'll find things work easier. And now I can tell you what I shouldn't, perhaps, if I had seen you stubborn; you may depend on my laying hold on the first chance that turns up for sending you on homeward tracks." Harty's face beamed. The captain seeing this, made haste to add,

"It mightn't happen, you know, such a chance, on the voyage; but then again, it might. But you shall have the benefit of it, if it does, never fear !"

Poor Harty! The very hope and possibility of such a chance made his heart leap with joy.

It was very little flattering to his own opinion of himself, was it not? that they should be so ready to part with him; should deem him of so small account.

But Harty did not think of that. He was humble enough now; the boy who at home was wont to expect great consideration; to whom dear little Dolly had been always ready to yield, and who, even from schoolmates, servants, and playfellows, had never failed to exact pretty considerable deference. It was all altered now.