retorting Launce's question on him, with a harsh ring of defiance in his
brassy voice.

"What became of the poor foreign sailor, papa?" said Natalie, purposely
interrupting Launce before he could meet the question angrily asked of
him, by an angry reply.

"We made a subscription, and spoke to his consul, my dear. He went back
to his country, poor fellow, comfortably enough."

"And there is an end of Sir Joseph's story," said Turlington, rising
noisily from his chair. "It's a pity we haven't got a literary man on
board--he would make a novel of it." He looked up at the skylight as he
got on his feet. "Here is the breeze, this time," he exclaimed, "and no
mistake!"

It was true. At last the breeze had come. The sails flapped, the main
boom swung over with a thump, and the stagnant water, stirred at last,
bubbled merrily past the vessel's sides.

"Come on deck, Natalie, and get some fresh air," said Miss Lavinia,
leading the way to the cabin door.

Natalie held up the skirt of her nankeen dress, and exhibited the purple
trimming torn away over an extent of some yards.

"Give me half an hour first, aunt, in my cabin," she said, "to mend
this."

Miss Lavinia elevated her venerable eyebrows in amazement.