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 the clean decks, admiring the new paint and the brass work, and the patent winches, and particularly the strong, straight bow, over which she had cracked a bottle of champagne when she named the steamer the Dimbula. It was a beautiful September afternoon, and the boat in all her newness—she was painted lead-colour with a red funnel—looked very fine indeed. Her house-flag was flying, and her whistle from time to time acknowledged the salutes of friendly boats, who saw that she was new to the High and Narrow Seas and wished to make her welcome.

And now," said Miss Frazier, delightedly, to the captain, "she 's a real ship, is n't she? It seems only the other day father gave the order for her, and now—and now—is n't she a beauty!" The girl was proud of the firm, and talked as though she were the controlling partner.

"Oh, she 's no so bad," the skipper replied cautiously. "But I 'm sayin' that it takes more than christenin' to mak' a ship. In the nature o' things, Miss Frazier, if ye follow me, she 's just irons and rivets and plates put into the form of a ship. She has to find herself yet."

"I thought father said she was exceptionally well found."

"So she is," said the skipper, with a laugh. "But it 's this way wi' ships, Miss Frazier. She 's all here, but the parrts of her have not learned to work together yet. They 've had no chance."

"The engines are working beautifully. I can hear them."