"I--I thought it was a fine room!" he said at length, timidly.

"It isn't as bright, somehow, as where I used to live with my mother, and--it seems to stay shut up, even when it isn't; but--I guess it's a fine room, sir; and then, if a person didn't like it, there's all out-doors, you know, and that's never shut up." "True!" cried the Skipper, with a merry laugh; "out of doors is never shut up, praise be to Heaven!" He pulled off his cap, and looked up at the shining sky.

They were standing on the door-step now, and John noticed that his companion seemed much less grave than usual.

He laughed, he patted the boy on the shoulder, he hummed snatches of strange, sweet melodies.

Once or twice he broke out into speech, but it was foreign speech, and John knew nothing save that it was something cheerful.