CHAPTER XXIX.
BUMPUS IS PERPLEXED--MYSTERIOUS COMMUNINGS, AND A CURIOUS LEAVE-TAKING.
"It's a puzzler," said Jo Bumpus to himself,--for Jo was much in the habit of conversing with himself; and a very good habit it is, one that is often attended with much profit to the individual, when the conversation is held upon right topics and in a proper spirit,--"it's a puzzler, it is; that's a fact." Having relieved his mind of this observation, the seaman proceeded to cut down some tobacco, and looked remarkably grave and solemn as if "it" were not only a puzzler, but an alarmingly serious puzzler.
"Yes, it's the biggest puzzler as ever I comed across," said he, filling his pipe; for John, when not roused, got on both mentally and physically by slow stages.
"Niver know'd its equal," he continued, beginning to smoke, which operation, as the pipe did not "draw" well at first, prevented him from saying anything more.
It was early morning when Bumpus said all this, and the mariner was enjoying his morning pipe in a reclining attitude on the grass beneath Alice Mason's favorite tree, from which commanding position he gazed approvingly on the magnificent prospect of land and sea which lay before him, bathed in the light of the rising sun.
"It _is_ wery koorious," continued John, taking his pipe out of his mouth and addressing himself to _it_ with much gravity--"_wery_ koorious.

Things _always_ seems wot they isn't, and turns out to be wot they didn't appear as if they wasn't; werry odd indeed, it is! Only to think that this here sandal-wood trader should turn out for to be Henry's father and the widow's mother,--or, I mean, the widow's husband,--an' a pirate an' a deliverer o' little boys and girls out o' pirate's hands,--his own hands, so to speak,--not to mention captings in the Royal Navy, an' not sich a bad feller after all, as won't have his liberty on no account wotiver, even if it was gived to him for nothin', and yet wot can't get it if he wanted it iver so much; and to think that Jo Bumpus should come for to lend hisself to--Hallo! Jo, back yer tops'ls! Didn't Henry tell ye that ye wasn't to convarse upon that there last matter even with yerself, for fear o' bein' overheard and sp'ilin' the whole affair?
Come, I'll refresh myself." The refreshment in which Jo proposed to indulge was of a peculiar kind which never failed him,--it was the perusal of Susan's love-letter.
He now sat up, drew forth the precious and much-soiled epistle, unfolded and spread it out carefully on his knees, placed his pipe very much on one side of his mouth, in order that the smoke might not interfere with his vision, and began to read.
"'_Peeler's Farm_,'-- ah! Susan, darlin', it's Jo Bumpus as would give all he has in the world, includin' his Sunday clo's, to be anchored alongside o' ye at that same farm!--'_Sanfransko_.' I misdoubt the spellin' o' that word, Susan, dear; it seems to me raither short, as if ye'd docked off its tail.

Howsomdever--'_For John bumpuss_'-- O Susan, Susan! if ye'd only remember the big B, and there ain't two esses.

I'm sure it's not for want o'tellin' ye, but ye was never great in the way ov memry or spellin'.

Pr'aps it's as well.