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Rh "And I have just time to hear the rest about the grand surprise," she said to Betty, who had been turning and creasing in her hand the letter her uncle had written.

"I'm afraid I can't go as much into detail as I thought I could," confessed Betty. "But I'll read you the letter my old sea-captain uncle sent me. It begins: 'In port; longitude whatever you like, and latitude an ice cream soda.' Then he goes on:

Dear messmate. Years ago, when you first signed papers to voyage through life, when you weren't rated as an A. B., you used to have me spin sea-yarns for you. And you always said you were going to be a sailor, shiver my timbers, or something like that,—real sailor-like, so it sounded.

I never forgot this, and I always counted on taking you on a voyage with me. But your captain—that is to say your father—never would let me, and often the barometer went away down between him and me.

Howsomever, I haven't forgotton how you liked the water, nor how much you wanted a big ship of your own. You used to make me promise that if ever I could tow the Flying Dutchman into port that you could have it for a toy. And I promised.