The vessel lay becalmed, scarcely moving on the quiet waters, and the men had been stretched lazily about, or leisurely mending sails, or washing their clothing in true sailors' fashion.

Drawn on by Brimstone's beckoning finger, a group had silently gathered round Blair, ready for any wild frolic at the boy's expense which their summoner might have in his unscrupulous brain.
Just as Blair put the signature to his letter, the paper was snatched from his hand by some one from behind.
"Now hear, worshipful shipmates," said Brimstone, making as if he would read the letter aloud.
"You don't know your alphabet," said Derry Duck contemptuously.

"I am the scholard for you; but I choose to let the writer do his own reading.
Here, Mum, let us have the benefit of your long-tailed letter in plain English, stops put in all right." Blair's eyes flashed for a moment, but the next he put out his hand for the letter, and said pleasantly, "Do you really want to know how a Yankee boy writes home to his mother?
Well, then, I'll read every word out, just as it is written." [Illustration:] The tones of Blair's voice were clear and firm as he read as follows: "DEAR MOTHER--I always thought I loved you, but I never half knew what you were to me before.

I think of you by day, and dream of you by night." "I should think he was writing to his sweetheart," said Brimstone with a coarse laugh.
"Silence," shouted Derry Duck in a tone of command.

"Go on, boy." Blair resumed.