"What a place for Lady O'Hara it is here with these men aboard! Suppose they should rise some night-- suppose they should rise at home where mother is, and the girls-- suppose--" "Why, how now, my thoughtful young philosopher?
What are you thinking about ?" Lady O'Hara had laid her hand upon his shoulder, and the boy was silent for a few moments.
"Well, what is it?
Not going to turn sea-sick, after behaving so well all across the bay." "No," said Nic; "I'm quite well." "Then what makes you look so glum ?" "I was thinking about the convicts." "And a very unpleasant subject too, Nic.

Don't think about them, boy.
They used to make me ill when I first went out yonder.

It seemed so horrible to have them mixed up so with one's daily life." "Yes, that's it," cried Nic; "that's what I've been thinking.

I suppose father will have some at his station ?" "Not a doubt about it." "Well, it seems so shocking, and--and unsafe." "Not a bit of it, my boy.

That's just what I used to think, but I don't now." "But I shall never get hardened to it, Lady O'Hara." "Sure, I hope not, Nic.