CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
"A BAKER'S DOZEN." "Do you know what day it is ?" observed Captain Miles presently, as we were all busily engaged freeing ourselves from the lashings that held us to the spars, preparing to stand on the deck once more in an upright position and stretch our sadly cramped legs, our movements for so many hours having been much restricted.
"No," replied Mr Marline, taking the question to himself as he stamped his feet vigorously to restore the circulation of the stagnant blood.
"I have lost all count nearly of time during this awful week!--Saturday, is it not--or Monday ?" "You are a little behind in one guess and too far ahead in the other!" said the captain quietly.

"It is Sunday, the seventh day since our trials began." "Well," responded the other; "it is a lucky day for us, whatever it may be, sir.

I confess I never expected such a fortunate ending as this to our sad misfortunes.

I had made up my mind that we must go to the bottom; and pretty soon too, after the wind rose again!" "I hoped for the best," answered Captain Miles, shaking himself like a big Newfoundland dog, and stepping gingerly along the poop as if half afraid to walk.

"I never despaired even in our darkest hour; and I'm glad to say I didn't, for I trusted in Providence! But come," he added, with all his old brisk manner restored in a moment, smiling cheerfully, "we must see about getting things ship-shape around us; for it would be a poor return for the mercy we have received to sit down idly now and do nothing to help ourselves.