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Rh "Yes, mother"—that was her nickname amongst us.

"That's good news, sonny!"

"I've shipped on the schooner bound for the Islands."

"Ho! 'ave yet? Well, I wish yer well of 'er, my son."

"Why, mother; what's wrong with her?"

"Ho! there ain't nothin' wrong with the schooner, my son."

With what then, mother?"

"Well, they do say that Paul Dane knows 'is was about them h'islands—and 'as got a wife as knows 'er way about Wooloomooloo; but 'e don't take 'er along, they do say."

"Well, that's his affair mother, not mine—is it?"

"No—it ain't your'n, sonny. It ain't your'n—for sure!"

Mother hobbled way about her work muttering, and for a moment I thought of the smell of bacon and the pretty voice from the schooner's cuddy calling Captain Dane to breakfast.

In my heart I hoped the captain's wife was not going to sea with us. I sailed once in a ship with a captain's wife aboard; she was not only wife, but captain too! That ship was a regular hell. I don't know how it was managed, but she got every one on board quarreling. Men seem to get along together all right until a woman comes among them; then it all goes wrong. Yet women are nice enough things as they go. I can't account for it. Noon came at last. My appointment was kept at the shipping office—I signed on—took a "month's advance," carried my bag down to the schooner, stored it away for'rd in the little fo'c'sle—lit my pipe and went ashore again with orders to be aboard ready to heave out from the wharf at daylight. The mate gave me the orders. I noticed him—his face struck me by its frankness and almost feminine beauty.