oracle in matters of agriculture and cattle, and, like oracles
generally, was prudently sparing of his responses. Amaziah was one of
those uncouth over-grown boys of eighteen whose physical bulk appears to
have so suddenly developed that the soul has more matter than she has
learned to recognize, so that the hapless individual is always awkwardly
conscious of too much limb; and in Amaziah's case, this consciousness
grew particularly distressing when Mary was in the room. He liked to
have her there, he said,--"but, somehow, she was so white and pretty,
she made him feel sort o' awful-like."

Of course, as such poor mortals always do, he must, on this particular
morning, blunder into precisely the wrong subject.

"S'pose you've heerd the news that Jeduthun Pettibone brought home in
the 'Flying Scud,' 'bout the wreck o' the 'Monsoon'; it's an awful
providence, that 'ar' is,--a'n't it? Why, Jeduthun says she jest crushed
like an egg-shell";--and with that Amaziah illustrated the fact by
crushing an egg in his great brown hand.

Mary did not answer. She could not grow any paler than she was before; a
dreadful curiosity came over her, but her lips could frame no question.
Amaziah went on:--

"Ye see, the cap'en he got killed with a spar when the blow fust come
on, and Jim Marvyn he commanded; and Jeduthun says that he seemed to
have the spirit of ten men in him; he worked and he watched, and he was
everywhere at once, and he kep' 'em all up for three days, till finally
they lost their rudder, and went drivin' right onto the rocks. When,
they come in sight, he come up on deck, and says he, 'Well, my boys,
we're headin' right into eternity,' says he, 'and our chances for this