Fortunately for him he waked up about daylight, and was not seen by any of the early risers at Woodville. Appropriating the rest of the crackers and cheese for his breakfast, he got into the skiff and rowed up to the Glen, where he hoped, in the course of the forenoon, to see Bertha.



CHAPTER VIII.

GOOD-BYE TO WOODVILLE.

Bertha often walked to the Glen before breakfast, and Noddy expected to find her there on the present occasion. As she did not appear, he followed the path toward Woodville, and actually reached the lawn which surrounded the mansion before he thought of the danger he incurred. But it was breakfast time in the servants' quarters, and he was not seen.

Keeping on the outskirts of the lawn, where he could make good his retreat in case of necessity, he walked nearly around to the pier, and was so fortunate as to discover Bertha at the turn of a winding path, near his route. The sight of her filled him with emotion, and brought to his mind the remembrance of the many happy days he had spent in her presence. He could hardly restrain the tears which the thought of leaving the place brought to his eyes, though Noddy was not given to the feminine custom of weeping.

"Miss Bertha," said he, as she approached the spot where he stood.

She started back with alarm; but he stepped forward from the concealment of the bushes, and with a smile of pleasure she recognized him.

"Why, Noddy, is that you?" said she, walking towards the spot where he stood.

"It's me, Miss Bertha; but I suppose you don't want to see me now."

"I am very glad to see you. What did you go away for?"

"Because they were going to put me in the court-house."

"In the court-house!" exclaimed Bertha, who was better acquainted with legal affairs than her pupil.

"Yes, for setting the boat-house afire."

"I don't think they intended to take you to the court-house."

"O, I know they did. I have had two constables after me; but I got away from them. Besides, I heard Squire Wriggs say they were going to take me to the court-house. I heard him say so myself."

"Perhaps it is so," said Bertha, musing. "Squire Wriggs came to see father yesterday morning. They went out together, and were speaking of you as they left the house."

"I'm glad you didn't have anything to do with it," said Noddy, delighted to find that Bertha was not one of his persecutors.

Then, with the utmost simplicity, and apparently with the feeling that he was a persecuted youth, he told her everything that had occurred from the time he first saw Mr. Grant and Squire Wriggs on the lawn.

"I don't know what my father's plans are," said Bertha, sadly; "but he thinks it is no longer safe to permit you to roam about the place. He is afraid you will set the house on fire, or do some other terrible thing."

"But I wouldn't, Miss Bertha," protested Noddy.

"Why did you do such a wicked thing?"

"I couldn't help it."

"Yes, you could, Noddy. That's only making a bad matter worse. Of course you could help setting a building on fire."

"It wasn't my fault, Miss Bertha," stammered he; "I can't explain it now—perhaps some time I may; and when you understand it, you won't think so bad of me."

"If there is anything about it I don't know, why don't you tell me?" added Bertha, mystified by his strange remark.

"I can't say anything now. Please don't ask me anything about it, Miss Bertha. I'm not half so much to blame as you think I am; but I set the fire, and they are after me for it. They have used all sorts of tricks to catch me; but I'm not going into any court-house, or any tinker's shop."

"What tricks do you mean?"

"They said they had a lot of money for me, and that Squire Wriggs wouldn't do me any harm."

"Well, I don't know anything about that. Father went over to Whitestone with Squire Wriggs, after you ran away. He went over again last night, after he came from the city, and I haven't seen him for more than a moment since."

"He is going to send me to the court-house," said Noddy, fully satisfied that Bertha knew nothing about the proceedings of her father. "I am going to sea, now."

"To sea, Noddy?"

"Yes, I'm going to work and win, as you told me, and when I come back I shall be respectable."

Bertha had her doubts on this point. She had almost lost all hope of her protege, and she did not think that a voyage in the forecastle of a ship would be likely to improve his manners or his morals.

"I can't let you go, Noddy," said she.

"I must go; if I stay here they will put me in prison. You don't want to see me put in prison, Bertha."

"I don't."

"Then what can I do? The officers are after me this moment."

"But I shall have to tell my father that I have seen you."

"You may do that; and you may tell him, too, that it won't be any use for him to try to find me, for I shall keep out of the way. If they catch me they will be smarter than I am," added Noddy, confidently.

"I want to see you again, Noddy, after I have talked with father about you. I don't believe he intends to send you to prison."

"I know he does. I come over here to see you before I went away. I couldn't go without seeing you, or I shouldn't have come. I may never see you again, for I shan't run any more risks after this."

Bertha said all she could to induce him to meet her again; but the cunning youth was afraid that some trap might be set to catch him, and he assured her that this was positively his last appearance at Woodville for the present. He was satisfied that Mr. Grant had taken the case into his own hands, and that she could not save him if she would.

"Now, good-bye, Miss Bertha," said he, wiping a tear from his face.

"Don't go, Noddy," pleaded she.

"I must."

"You haven't any clothes but those you have on, and you have no money."

"I don't want any. I can get along very well. Won't you shake hands with me before I go?"

"Certainly, I will," replied she, giving him her hand. "You will not let me do anything for you now?"

"You have done more than I deserve. Good-bye, Miss Bertha," said he, pressing the hand he held.

"Good-bye, Noddy," replied she. "Good-bye, if you must go."

"There comes your father," exclaimed he, as he bounded off into the grove with the speed of an antelope.

"Was that Noddy?" asked Mr. Grant, as he joined Bertha a few minutes later.

"Yes, father."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here, Bertha?"

"He came but a few moments ago. He came to bid me good-bye."

"Where is he going?"

"He is going to sea. He says you intend to take him to the court-house."

"This is very unfortunate. A most remarkable event in regard to the boy has occurred, which I haven't time to tell you about now. It is very important that I should find him at once."

"I don't think you can catch him. He is very much afraid of being sent to prison."

"I had no intention of sending him to prison," laughed Mr. Grant.

"But he heard Squire Wriggs say he must take him over to the court."

"That was for another matter—in a word, to have a guardian appointed, for Noddy will be a rich man when he is of age."

"Noddy?" exclaimed Bertha.

"Yes; but I haven't a moment to spare. I have been at work on his affairs since yesterday morning. They are all right now; and all we want to enable us to complete the business is the presence of the boy."

"Poor fellow! He is terribly worked up at the idea of going to the court-house, or even to a tinker's shop, as he calls it."

"Well, he is running away from his own fortune and happiness; and I must find him."

"I hope you will, father," said Bertha, earnestly, as Mr. Grant hastened away to organize a pursuit of the refugee.

All the male servants on the place were summoned, and several started off in the direction in which Noddy had retreated. The boatman and others were sent off in the boats; and the prospect was, that the fugitive would be captured within a few hours. As our story relates more especially to the runaway himself, we shall follow him, and leave the well-meaning people of Woodville to pursue their investigations alone.

When Noddy discovered Mr. Grant, he was satisfied that the gentleman saw him, for he quickened his pace, and walked towards the place where he stood holding Bertha's hand. He ran with all his might by the familiar paths till he reached the Glen. There were, at present, no signs of a pursuit; but he was confident that it would not be delayed, and he did not even stop to take breath. Rushing down to the water, he embarked in the skiff, and rowed up the river, taking care to keep in shore, where he could not be seen from below.

Above Van Alstine's Island, he crossed the river, and began to work his way down; but the white sails of the Greyhound were seen, with all the boats belonging to the estate, headed up stream. They were chasing him in earnest, and he saw that it was not safe to remain on the river.

"Do you know where Mr. Grover lives?" he asked of a ragged boy who was fishing on the bank of the river.

"Below Whitestone?"

"Yes."

"Will you take this boat down there?"

"I will," replied the boy, glad of the job, and willing to do it without any compensation.

Noddy had taken off the tights belonging to the circus company, and rolled them up in a bundle. In order to be as honest as Bertha had taught him to be,—though he was not always so particular,—he engaged the boy to leave them at the circus tent.

The boy got into the boat, and began his trip down the river. Noddy felt that he had been honest, and he was rather proud of the record he was to leave behind him; for it did not once occur to him that borrowing the boat without leave was only a little better than stealing it, even if he did return it.

The servants at Woodville and the constables at Whitestone were on his track, and he had no time to spare. Taking a road leading from the river, he walked away from it as fast as he could. About three miles distant, he found a road leading to the northward; and thinking it better to suffer by excess of prudence than by the want of it, he took this direction, and pursued his journey till he was so tired he could go no farther.

A farmer on the road gave him some dinner; and when he had rested himself, he resumed his walk. At sunset he reached a large town on the river, where he felt safe from pursuit until he saw the flaming hand-bills of the Great Olympian Circus, which was almost as bad as meeting one of the constables, for these worthies would expect to find him at the tent, and probably were on the watch for him.

Noddy was too tired to walk any farther that day. He wanted to reach some large seaport, like New York or Boston, where he could find a vessel bound on a foreign voyage. He was almost afraid to go to the former city, for he had heard about the smart detectives they have there, who catch any person guilty of crime, though they never saw him before. He had told Bertha that he intended to go to sea; and he was afraid that Mr. Grant would be on the watch for him, or set some of these detectives to catch him, if he went there.

It was almost time for the steamers for Albany, which went up in the night, to reach the town, and he determined to go on board of one, and proceed as far up the river as he could with the small sum of money in his possession. He soon found the landing-place, and presently a steamer came along.

"Where do you want to go, boy?" asked one of the officers of the boat.

"I want to go to Albany; but I haven't money enough to pay my fare."

"How much money have you got?"

"Thirty-five cents. I will go as far as that will pay my fare."

"That will only be to the next landing-place."

"Couldn't you give me some work to do, to pay my fare up to Albany?"

The officer happened to be rather pleased with Noddy, and told him he might stand by and help land the baggage at the stopping-places. He gave the little wanderer some supper in the mess-room, after the boat got off, and Noddy was as grateful as though the man had given him a gold mine. When the steamer made another landing, he worked with all his might, and was highly commended for his skill and activity.

And so he passed the night, sleeping between the stoppages, and working like a mule at every landing. In the morning the boat reached Albany, and the officer gave him his breakfast with the engineers. Noddy felt safe from pursuit now; he went on shore, and walked about the city, thinking what he should do next.



CHAPTER IX.

AN ATTEMPT TO WORK AND WIN.

Boston was two hundred miles distant, and Noddy was principally excited to know how he should get there, for he had decided to ship in that city. It would take him a week to go on foot, and his funds were now completely exhausted, so that he could not pay his fare by railroad. If he could neither ride nor walk, the question was narrowed down to a point where it needed no further consideration.

"Here, boy, do you want a job?" said a gentleman, coming out of a dwelling with a valise and a large bundle in his hands.

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," replied Noddy, springing forward, and taking the heavier articles, without giving the gentleman the trouble to state what he wanted of him.

This incident seemed to solve the problem for him. He could remain in Albany long enough to earn a sufficient sum of money to pay his fare to Boston. He followed the gentleman to the railroad station, and handed the valise to the baggage-master. The gentleman gave him a quarter of a dollar for his services. It was a liberal return for the short time he had been employed, and a few more such jobs as that would soon put him in funds.

Noddy was sanguine now that he could earn money with entire ease, and all the difficulties which had beset him began to disappear. There was something exceedingly pleasant in the idea of being independent; of putting his hand into his pocket and always finding some money there which had been earned by his own labor. It was a novel sensation to him.

"Work and win!" exclaimed he, as he walked out of the railroad station. "I understand it all now, and I may thank Miss Bertha for the idea."

In the enthusiasm of the moment, he began to consider whether it would not be better to remain on shore and amass a fortune, which he believed could be done in a short time. He could carry bundles and valises till he got money enough to buy a horse and wagon, when he could go into the business on a more extensive scale. The road to fortune was open to him; all his trials and difficulties had suddenly vanished, and he had only to reach out his hand to pluck the golden harvest.

The rattling of a train which had just arrived disturbed this pleasant dream, and Noddy hastened back to secure the fruit of his brilliant resolution. There were plenty of gentlemen with bags and valises in their hands, but not a single one of them wanted any assistance; and some of them answered his civil salutation with insult and harshness. The experiment did not work so well as he had anticipated, for Noddy's great expectations led him to believe that he should make about half a dollar out of the arrival of this train, instead of which he did not make a single cent.

"Work and win; but where are you going to get your work?" said Noddy to himself.

No more trains were to arrive for some hours, and he posted himself in the street, asking for a job whenever there was the least prospect of obtaining one. At noon, Noddy was hungry, and was obliged to spend half his morning's earnings for a coarse dinner, for his circumstances did not permit him to indulge in the luxury of roast beef and plum pudding. During the afternoon he lay in wait for a job at the railroad stations, and in the most public places of the city. But the sum of his earnings was only five cents.

"Work and win!" said he. "Sum total of day's work, thirty cents; not enough to buy what I want to eat. It don't pay."

If work did not pay, stealing certainly would not; and we are happy to say, Bertha Grant had done her duty by him so faithfully, that he did not feel tempted to resort to any irregular means of obtaining a subsistence. If work did not pay, it was only because he could not obtain it. He had not yet struck a productive vein. He had been a fishing a great many times; but when he had no success, he neither concluded that fish were not good, nor that there were no fish in the river.

There was a train to arrive, after dark, from New York city, and he determined to make one more effort to improve his fortunes. As the passengers came out of the station with small parcels of baggage in their hands, he offered his services to them. His heart almost leaped with rapture when a gentleman handed him a small carpet-bag, and told him to follow to the Delavan House. He took the bag, and then, to his horror, he discovered that the gentleman was Mr. Grant!

What had brought him to Albany? As Noddy's sphere of observation was confined to the little world of his own affairs, he concluded that the owner of Woodville must be there for the purpose of arresting him. Probably some of those smart constables had traced him to the town where he had embarked for Albany. Again the horrors of the court-house, the jail, and the tinker's shop were present to his mind. He had taken the valise, and was now following Mr. Grant to the hotel. It was dark at the place where he had received the carpet-bag, otherwise he would have been recognized.

Noddy had no doubt in regard to the correctness of his conclusions; and he could not help thinking that a great man, like Mr. Grant, was taking a good deal of pains to capture a poor boy, like him. His arrest was a matter of a great deal more consequence than he had supposed, which made it all the more necessary to his future peace and happiness that he should escape. The bag tied him to his persecutor, or he would have run away as fast as he could. He could not carry off the baggage, for that would subject him to another penalty, even if he had been dishonest enough to do such a thing. He decided to follow Mr. Grant to the hotel, drop the bag, and run.

"Boy, do you know where the police office is?" said Mr. Grant, suddenly turning round upon him.

"No, sir," replied Noddy, whose natural boldness prompted him, when fairly cornered, to face the danger.

"What! Noddy?" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "I came to look for you."

"Thank you, sir," replied Noddy.

"You were a foolish fellow to run away. I'm not going to hurt you; neither is anybody else."

Noddy was not a little astonished to find Mr. Grant, in his own homely terms, "trying it on" in this manner. It was not strange that the constable, or even Squire Wriggs, should resort to deception to entrap him; but he was not quite prepared for it from the upright proprietor of Woodville. If he was wanted "bad enough" to induce a gentleman of wealth and position to make a journey to Albany after him, it was the very best reason in the world why he should get out of the way as soon as possible.

"How is Miss Bertha, sir?" asked Noddy, who did not know what else to say.

"She is quite well, and feels very badly now at your absence. You have made a great mistake, Noddy," replied Mr. Grant.

"Is Miss Fanny pretty well, sir?"

"Very well. We don't wish to injure you, or even to punish you, for setting the boat-house on fire. The worst that I shall do will be to send you——"

"Is Ben any better than he was?" continued Noddy, fully satisfied in his own mind in regard to the last remark.

"Ben is very well," said Mr. Grant, impatiently. "Now, you will come with me, Noddy, and not try to run away again."

"How is Mrs. Green and the rest of the folks?" asked Noddy, fully resolved that even Mr. Grant should not "pull wool over his eyes," as he quaintly expressed his view of this attempt to deceive him.

"She is well. Now come with me, Noddy. I will give you a good supper, and you shall have everything you need. Your circumstances have changed now, and you will be a rich man when you are of age."

"Have you heard from Mr. Richard lately, sir?"

"Never mind Richard, now. Come with me, Noddy. If you attempt to run away again, I shall be obliged to hand you over to a policeman."

That looked much more like it, in Noddy's opinion, and he had no doubt of Mr. Grant's entire sincerity in the last remark.

"I will follow you, sir," replied Noddy, though he did not intend to continue on this route much farther.

"You understand that I am your friend, Noddy, and that no harm shall come to you."

"Yes, sir; I understand that."

"Come here now, and walk by my side. I don't want to call a policeman to take charge of you."

Noddy did not want him to do so either, and did not intend that he should. He placed himself by the side of his powerful persecutor, as he still regarded him, and they walked together towards the hotel. The young refugee was nervous and uneasy, and watched with the utmost diligence for an opportunity to slip away. As they were crossing a street, a hack, approaching rapidly, caused Mr. Grant to quicken his pace in order to avoid being run over. Noddy, burdened with the weight of the carpet-bag, did not keep up with him, and he was obliged to fall back to escape the carriage.

"Here, boy, you take this bag, and follow the owner to the hotel, and he will give you something," said Noddy to a ragged boy at the corner of the street.

Without waiting for an answer, he darted down the cross street, and made his best time in the rush for liberty.

The boy, to whom Noddy had given the bag, ran over the street, and placed himself behind Mr. Grant, whom he judged to be the owner of the baggage.

"Where is the other boy?" demanded Mr. Grant.

"Gone down State Street to find ten cents he lost there," replied the wicked boy. "I'll carry your bag, sir."

"But I want the boy! Which way did he go?" said Mr. Grant, in hurried tones.

"Down there, sir. His mother'll lick him if he don't find the ten cents he lost. I'll carry the bag."

But Mr. Grant was unwilling to trust his property to the hands of such a boy, and he immediately reclaimed it.

"I want that boy!" exclaimed Mr. Grant, in great agitation. "Which way did he go?"

"Down there," replied the ragged boy, pointing down a street in exactly the opposite direction from that taken by the fugitive.

But Mr. Grant was too wise a man to follow. He was in search of a policeman just then. As these worthy functionaries are never at hand when they are wanted, of course he did not find one. He called a carriage, and ordered the driver to convey him with all speed, and at double fare, to the police office. On his arrival, he immediately stated his business, and in a few hours the whole police force of the city were on the lookout for poor Noddy Newman.

The object of all this friendly solicitude was unconscious of the decided steps taken by Mr. Grant; but he ran till he had placed a safe distance between himself and his potent oppressor. He saw plenty of policemen in his flight, but he paid no attention to them, nor even thought what a powerful combination they formed against a weak boy like himself. He was satisfied, however, that he must leave the city; and when he was out of breath with running, he walked as nearly on a straight course as the streets would permit, till he reached the outskirts of the city.

"Stop that heifer!" shouted a man, who was chasing the animal.

Noddy headed her off, and she darted away in another direction. Our refugee was interested in the case at once; for he could not permit any horned beast to circumvent him. He ran as though he had not run before that evening, and brought the wayward animal up in a corner when the man came to his assistance.

"You are a smart boy," said the drover.

"That's so," puffed Noddy, modestly.

"If you haven't got nothin' better to do, I'll make it wuth your while to help drive these cattle down to the keers," added the man.

As Noddy had nothing better to do, he at once accepted the offer, without even stipulating the price. They started the heifer again, and she concluded to join the drove which was in the adjoining street. It was no easy matter to drive the animals, which were not accustomed to the ways of the city, through the streets, and Noddy won a great deal of credit for the vigor and agility with which he discharged his duty. They reached the ferry boat, and crossing, came to the "keers," into which the young drover assisted in loading the cattle.

His employer gave him a quarter of a dollar, which hardly came up to Noddy's expectations; for it seemed to him like working very hard, and winning very little for it. The man asked him some questions about his home. Noddy told as much of the truth as suited his purpose, and concluded by saying he wanted to get to Boston, where he could find something to do.

"O, you want sunthin to do—do ye?" replied the drover. "Well, I'll give you your victuals, and what clothes you want, to help me drive."

This was not exactly Noddy's idea of "work and win," and he told the drover he wanted to go to sea.

"I'll tell you what I'll do. You may go down to Brighton, and help take keer of the cattle in the keers, and I'll take keer of you on the way."

Noddy was more than satisfied with all these "keers," and he promptly accepted the offer. In half an hour the train started, and he was on the way to Brighton, which is only a few miles from Boston.



CHAPTER X.

POOR MOLLIE.

Noddy's duty on the journey to Brighton was to assist in keeping the cattle on their feet. When the poor animals become weary, they are disposed to lie down; but they are so closely packed that this is not possible for more than one or two in a car; and if one lies down he is liable to be trampled to death by the others. The persons in charge of the cattle, therefore, are obliged to watch them, and keep them on their feet.

The train occasionally stopped during the night, and was several times delayed, so that it did not reach its destination till the middle of the following forenoon. The drover provided him a hearty breakfast in the morning, and Noddy was in no haste. The future was still nothing but a blank to him, and he was in no hurry to commence the battle of life.

When he arrived at Brighton he assisted in driving the cattle to the pens; and then, with half a dollar, which the drover gave him for his extra services, he started for Boston, whose spires he could even then see in the distance. He reached the city, and from the Mill Dam—the long bridge he had just crossed—he walked to the Common. Being quite worn out by two nights of hard work, and the long walk he had just taken, he seated himself on one of the stone benches near the Frog Pond. It was a warm and pleasant day, and he watched the sports of the happy children who were at play, until his eyelids grew heavy, and he hardly knew the State House from the Big Tree.

For a boy of his age he had undergone a severe experience. The exciting circumstances which surrounded him had kept him wide awake until his physical nature could endure no more. Leaving the seat he had occupied, he sought out the quietest place he could find, and stretching himself on the grass, went to sleep.

It was nearly sunset when he awoke; but he felt like a new being, ready now to work and win at any business which might offer. He wandered about the streets of the city for two hours, and then ate a hearty supper at a restaurant. It was too late to do anything that night, and he asked a policeman to tell him where he could sleep. The officer, finding he was a friendless stranger, gave him a bed at the station-house.

In the morning he made his way to the wharves, and during the long day he went from vessel to vessel in search of a berth as cabin-boy. He asked for this situation, because he had frequently heard the term; but he was willing to accept any position he could obtain. No one wanted a cabin-boy, or so small a sailor as he was. Night came on again, with a hopeless prospect for the future; and poor Noddy began to question the wisdom of the course he had taken. A tinker's shop, with plenty to eat, and a place to sleep, was certainly much better than wandering about the streets.

He could not help thinking of Woodville, and the pleasant room he had occupied in the servants' quarters; of the bountiful table at which he had sat; and, above all, of the kindness and care which Miss Bertha had always bestowed upon him. With all his heart he wished he was there; but when he thought of the court-house and the prison, he was more reconciled to his fate, and was determined to persevere in his efforts to obtain work.

It was the close of a long summer day. He had been wandering about the wharves at the north part of the city; and as the darkness came on, he walked up Hanover Street in search of a policeman, who would give him permission to sleep another night in the station-house. As he did not readily find one, he turned into another street. It made but little difference to him where he went, for he had no destination, and he was as likely to find a policeman in one place as another.

He had gone but a short distance before he saw a crowd of ragged boys pursuing and hooting at a drunken man who was leading a little girl ten or eleven years of age,—or rather, she was trying to lead him. Under ordinary circumstances, we are afraid that Noddy would have joined the ragamuffins and enjoyed the senseless sport as well as any of them; but his own sorrows raised him above this meanness in the present instance, and he passed the boys without a particle of interest in the fun.

He was going by the drunken man and the little girl, when one of the boldest of the pursuers rushed up and gave the man a push, which caused him to fall on the pavement. The young vagabonds raised a chorus of laughter, and shouted with all their might. The little girl, who was evidently the drunkard's daughter, did not desert him. She bent over him, and used all her feeble powers to assist him to his feet again.

"My poor father!" sobbed she; and her heart seemed to be broken by the grief and peril which surrounded her.

The tones with which these words were spoken touched the heart of Noddy; and without stopping to consider any troublesome questions, he sprang to the assistance of the girl. The man was not utterly helpless; and with the aid of Noddy and his daughter he got upon his feet again. At that moment another of the unruly boys, emboldened by the feat of the first, rushed up and grasped the arm of the little girl, as if to pull her away from her father's support.

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" pleaded the grief-stricken girl, in tones so full of sorrow that our wanderer could not resist them, if her vagabond persecutor could.

He sprang to her assistance, and with one vigorous and well-directed blow, he knocked the rude assailant halfway across the street, and left him sprawling on the pavement. Noddy did not wait to see what the boy would do next, but turned his attention to the poor girl, whose situation, rather than that of her father, had awakened his sympathy.

"What is your father's name?" asked Noddy, who proceeded as though he had a sovereign remedy for the miseries of the situation.

"Captain McClintock," sobbed the little girl, still clinging to her father, with no sting of reproach in her words or her manner.

"Don't cry, little girl; I will do what I can for you," said Noddy, warmly. "I can lick those boys, if I can't do anything more."

"Thank you!" replied the afflicted daughter. "If I can only get him down to the vessel, I shall be so glad!"

"Want to fight?" shouted the young ruffian, whom Noddy had upset, coming as near the party as he dared.

"I'll give you fight, if you come near me again," replied the champion of the poor girl.

"Come on, if you want to fight," cried the little bully, who had not the pluck to approach within twenty feet of his late assailant.

The crowd of boys still shouted, and some of them carried their hostility so far as to throw sticks and stones at the little party; but as long as they kept at a respectful distance, Noddy did not deem it wise to meddle with them, though he kept one eye on them, and stood ready to punish those who ventured too near.

"Come, Captain McClintock," said he, as he attempted to lead the drunken father, "let's go on board."

"Heave ahead, my hearty!" replied the captain, as he pressed forward, though his steps were so uncertain that his two feeble supporters could hardly keep him on his feet.

The remarkable trio passed down Fleet Street, and, after many difficulties and much "rough weather," reached the head of the wharf, where the little girl said her father's vessel lay. They were still closely followed by the merciless ragamuffins, who had pelted them with stones and sticks, until the patience of Noddy was severely tried.

"Come, my boy, now we'll—hic—now we'll go and—hic—go and take something 'fore we go on board," said the drunken captain, suddenly coming to a dead halt in the middle of the street.

"O, no, father!" cried the daughter; "let us go on board."

"Something to take, Mollie, and you shall—hic—you shall have some—hic—some soda water."

"I don't want any, father. Do come on board."

"You are a good girl, Mollie, and you shall—hic—you shall have some cake."

"Not to-night, father. We will get it in the morning," pleaded poor Mollie, trembling with apprehension for the consequences which must follow another glass of liquor.

"Come, Captain McClintock, let's go on board," said Noddy.

"Who are you?" demanded the inebriated man.

"I'm the best fellow out; and I want to see your vessel."

"You shall see her, my boy. If you are—hic—the best fellow out, come and take something with me," stammered the captain.

"Let's see the vessel first," replied Noddy, tugging away at the arm of the drunken man.

"She's a very fine—hic—fine vessel."

"Let me see her, then."

"Heave ahead, my jolly roebuck. I've got some of the best—hic—on board zever you tasted. Come along."

Noddy and Mollie kept him going till they reached the part of the wharf where the captain's vessel was moored; and the end of their troubles seemed to be at hand, when the boys, aware that their sport was nearly over, became very bold and daring. They pressed forward, and began to push the drunken man, until they roused his anger to such a degree that he positively refused to go on board till he chastised them as they deserved. He had broken away from his feeble protectors, and in attempting to pursue them, had fallen flat upon the planks which covered the wharf.

Mollie ran to his assistance; and as she did so, one of the boys pushed her over upon him. Noddy's blood was up in earnest, for the little girl's suffering made her sacred in his eyes. He leaped upon the rude boy, bore him down, and pounded him till he yelled in mortal terror. Some of the boldest of the ragamuffins came to his relief when they realized how hard it was going with him, and that he was in the hands of only one small boy.

Noddy was as quick as a flash in his movements, and he turned upon the crowd, reckless of consequences. One or two of the boys showed fight; but the young lion tipped them over before they could make up their minds how to attack him. The rest ran away. Noddy gave chase, and in his furious wrath felt able to whip the whole of them. He pursued them only a short distance; his sympathy for poor Mollie got the better even of his anger, and he hastened back to her side. As he turned, the cowardly boys turned also, and a storm of such missiles as the wharf afforded was hurled after him.

By this time two men from the vessel had come to the assistance of the captain, and raised him to his feet. He was still full of vengeance, and wanted to chastise the boys. The young ruffians followed Noddy down the wharf, and he was compelled, in self-defence, to turn upon them again, and in presence of the drunken man he punished a couple of them pretty severely. One of the sailors came to his aid, and the foe was again vanquished. The appearance of a policeman at the head of the wharf now paralyzed their efforts, and they disbanded and scattered.

"You are a good fellow!" exclaimed Captain McClintock, extending his hand to Noddy as he returned to the spot.

"The best fellow out," replied the little hero, facetiously, as he took the offered hand.

"So you be! Now come on board, and—hic—and take something."

"Thank you, captain. I should like to go on board of your vessel."

"Come along, then, my jolly fellow," added the captain, as he reeled towards the vessel. "You are a smart little—hic—you are a smart little fellow. If you hadn't—hic—licked them boys, I should—hic."

Noddy thought he did "hic;" but with the assistance of the sailors, the captain got on board, and went down into his cabin. His first movement was to bring out a bottle of gin and a couple of glasses, into which he poured a quantity of the fiery liquor. He insisted that Noddy should drink; but the boy had never tasted anything of the kind in his life; and from the lessons of Bertha and Ben he had acquired a certain horror of the cup, which had not been diminished by the incidents of the evening. He could not drink, and he could not refuse without making trouble with his intoxicated host.

But Mollie saw his difficulty, and slyly substituted a glass of water for the gin, which he drank. Captain McClintock was satisfied, and overcome by his last potion, he soon sank back on the locker, and dropped asleep. With the assistance of the mate he was put into the berth in his state-room, to sleep off the effects of his debauch.

"I'm so grateful to you!" exclaimed Mollie, when all her trials seemed to have ended.

"O, never mind me."

"Where do you live?"

"Nowhere."

"Have you no home?"

"No."

"Where do you stay?"

"Anywhere."

"Where were you going to sleep to-night?"

"Anywhere I could."

"Then you can sleep here."

Noddy was entirely willing, and one of the eight berths in the cabin was appropriated by the mate to his use.



CHAPTER XI.

THE SCHOONER ROEBUCK.

"What is your name?" asked Mollie, when the arrangements for the night were completed.

"Noddy Newman."

"Noddy? What a queer name! That isn't your real name—is it?"

"Yes, I never knew any other."

Mollie was certainly a very pleasing young lady, and Noddy had become quite interested in her, as we always are in those to whom we are so fortunate as to render needed assistance. She had a pretty face, and her curly hair might have challenged the envy of many a fair damsel who was wicked enough to cherish such a feeling. There was nothing rough or coarse about her, and one would hardly have expected to find so lady-like a person in such a situation in life.

We make this statement in apology for the interest which Noddy took in the little maiden. The service he had rendered her was quite sufficient to create a kindly feeling towards her; and then she was so pretty, so modest, and so gentle, that his sympathy grew into admiration before she went to her little state-room. Mollie asked him a great many questions about his past life, and Noddy told her all he knew about himself—about Bertha, Fanny, and others at Woodville. He did not tell her about the affair of the boat-house, though he determined to do so at some future time, if he had the opportunity.

In return for all this information, Mollie told him that the schooner in which they then were was called the Roebuck; that she belonged to her father, and that they were bound to the Sandwich Islands, where the vessel was to run as a packet between certain islands, whose names she had forgotten. Captain McClintock belonged in the State of Maine, where Mollie's mother had died two years before. Her father had some property, and learning that there was a good chance to improve his fortunes at the Sandwich Islands, he had built the Roebuck for this purpose.

As these distant islands were to be his future home, he was to take his only child with him, and he had fitted up a state-room in the cabin, next to his own for her special use. Mollie told Noddy how much pleased she was with all the arrangements, and how happy she had been on the passage to Boston, where the Roebuck was to pick up an assorted cargo for the port of her destination. Then she wept when she thought of the terrible scenes through which she had just passed in the streets. She said her father did not often drink too much; that he was the very best father in the whole world; and she hoped he never would get intoxicated again as long as he lived.

Noddy hoped so too; and when the little maiden had finished her story, he thought she was almost equal to Miss Bertha; and he could not think of such a thing as parting with her in the morning, again to buffet the waves of disappointment on shore.

"Does your father want a boy on board of the vessel?" asked he.

"I don't know. Do you want to go with us?" said Mollie, with a smile which spoke the pleasure the thought afforded her.

"I should like to go with you first-rate," replied Noddy. "I want to do something, and earn some money for myself. I want to work."

"Then you shall go with us!" exclaimed Mollie. "Out where we are going is a nice place to get rich. My father is going to get rich out there, and then we are coming home again."

Poor child! She knew not what the future had in store for them.

The bells of the city rang for nine o'clock, and Mollie said she went to bed at this time.

"Can you read, Noddy?" asked she.

"Yes, some."

"I always read my Testament before I go to bed; I promised my mother, years ago, that I would; and I like to do it, too. I suppose you read your Testament every night—don't you?"

"Sometimes; that is, I did once," replied Noddy, in some confusion, for he could not help recalling the teachings of Bertha on this subject.

"Well, we will read it together. You would like to—wouldn't you?"

"Yes; I don't care if I do."

There was a want of enthusiasm on his part which was rather painful to the little maiden; but she got the Testament, and when she had read a few verses aloud, she passed the book to Noddy, who stumbled through his portion, and she then finished the chapter. She bade him good night, and retired to her state-room, leaving her new-made friend to meditate upon the singular events of the evening.

He did not meditate a great while—he never did. His thoughts were disposed to stray from one subject to another; and from the little maiden, he found himself wondering whether Mr. Grant had finished searching for him in Albany, and whether Miss Fanny had "let the cat out of the bag" yet. Noddy was too tired and sleepy to think a great while about anything; and he turned into his berth, and went to sleep.

Early in the morning Noddy was on his feet. He went on deck, and found that the Roebuck was a beautiful vessel, almost handsome enough to be a gentleman's yacht. He went upon the wharf, where he could obtain a fair view of her bow, and he was sure she would make good time with a fair breeze. When he had satisfied himself with the examination, he was more than ever inclined to go out in her.

When he went down into the cabin again, Mollie was there, setting the table for breakfast. She looked as fair and as fresh as a country maiden. She gave him a very friendly greeting.

"Do you do these things, Mollie?" asked he.

"O, yes; I always work, and do what I can. I like to do something."

"How old are you, Mollie?"

"Eleven last May."

"But you can't do this work when you are out at sea."

"O, yes, I can."

"You will be seasick."

"I never was sick, and I have been to sea a great deal with my father."

"How is the captain this morning?"

"I don't know; I haven't seen him yet," replied she, looking very sad, as she thought of her kind father's infirmity.

Captain McClintock soon came out of his state-room. He looked pale and haggard, and seemed to be thoroughly ashamed of himself for what he had done the evening before, as he ought to have been. Mollie sprang to him, as he stepped out of his room, and kissed him as lovingly as though he had never done a wrong thing in his life. He glanced at Noddy, as he entered the main cabin, and with a look of astonishment, as though his connection with the events of the previous evening were a blank to him.

The captain did not say a word to Noddy, which made the boy feel as though he was an intruder in the cabin; and when he had the opportunity, he went on deck, leaving Mollie to say whatever the circumstances required in explanation of his presence.

"I will never do it again, Mollie," said the fond father, as he kissed his daughter. "I am very sorry, and you must forgive me, my child."

He was a penitent man, and felt how great was the wrong he had done the poor child. He had taken her out to walk, and to see the sights of the city, and had become intoxicated. He remembered the whole scene, when the boys had chased him; and to Mollie, whom he loved with all his heart, he was willing to own his fault, and to make her happy by promising never to do the wrong again.

Mollie then told him about her conversation with Noddy, and of the boy's desire to go to sea with them. Captain McClintock remembered in part what the boy had done for them; and Mollie supplied what he had not seen, or had forgotten.

"Why, yes; we want a cabin-boy. I should have shipped one at home, if I could have found the right one," replied the captain. "You say he is a good boy?"

"I know he is. He wants to work."

"Does he know anything about a vessel? I want one who can go aloft, and shake out the top-gallant sail."

"He is used to boats and the water."

"Well, we will see what he is good for, after breakfast."

"I hope you will take him, for we have become fast friends."

"If he is good for anything, I will, Mollie. Call him down. Here comes the doctor with the grub."

The "doctor" was the black cook of the Roebuck, who was now descending the companion-way with the morning meal. Noddy was called, and Captain McClintock spoke very kindly to him. He inquired particularly into his knowledge of vessels, and wanted to know whether he would be afraid to go aloft. Noddy smiled, and thought he should not be afraid. He ate his breakfast with a boy's appetite, and then the captain took him on deck.

"Do you see that fore-top-gallant yard?" asked the captain.

"Yes, sir, I see it," replied Noddy, who had been thoroughly instructed in these matters by the old man-of-war's-man of Woodville, though he had no practical experience in seamanship, even on as large a scale as a topsail schooner, which was the rig of the Roebuck.

"Well, my boy, that's a pretty high place. Should you dare to go up there?"

"I think I should," answered Noddy.

"Let me see you do it."

"Now?"

"Yes. I want to see what you are good for. If we can't make a sailor of you, it won't be worth while to take you out to the Pacific. Let me see how long it will take you to run up to that fore-top-gallant yard."

Noddy started. Captain McClintock was evidently satisfied that it would make the boy dizzy; and that, perhaps, if he had to do this kind of work, he would not care to make a voyage. Mollie stood by her father's side, deeply interested in the experiment, and fearful that her heroic friend would fail to meet her father's expectations, thus depriving her of a pleasant companion on her long voyage.

The candidate for a position on the Roebuck skipped lightly forward to the fore-shrouds of the vessel, ran up, as chipper as a monkey, to the mast head, then up the fore-topmast rigging to the yard. Planting his feet in the foot-ropes, he danced out to the port yard-arm. At this point he astonished the spectators below by performing certain feats which he had seen at the Great Olympian Circus. Descending from the yard, he grasped the main-topmast stay, and ran over upon it to the main-topmast, and then made his way to the deck by the main-topmast back-stay.

"You'll do, my boy!" said the captain, emphatically. "You will make a smart sailor."

"Am I to go with you, sir?" asked Noddy.

"Yes, if you like."

"What will you give me?"

This was a more difficult question; but the captain finally agreed to give him eight dollars a month, and to advance money enough to buy him an outfit. Mollie actually danced about the deck with joy when the terms were arranged, and it was certain that Noddy was to go on the voyage.

The boy's work had been carefully stated by the captain. He was to take care of the cabin, wait upon the captain and his daughter at table, and do duty forward when required. He was to have a berth in the cabin, and was not to be in either watch, unless the vessel became short-handed.

"Now we shall be happy!" exclaimed Mollie, who had already formed many plans for the long and lonely cruise.

"I think we shall. Do you know when we sail, Mollie?"

"Perhaps to-day; perhaps not till to-morrow."

"I want to write a letter to Miss Bertha before we go."

"That's right, Noddy; never forget your friends. I will give you pen, ink, and paper, by and by."

In the forenoon Captain McClintock took the young sailor ashore, and purchased for him a supply of clothing. Noddy always dressed like a sailor at Woodville. This was Ben's idea, and it was quite proper, as his work was in the boats. His new garments were not strange to him, therefore, though they were much coarser than those he wore.

After dinner the captain went on shore alone to do his business, and Noddy wrote his letter. About five o'clock he returned, and poor Mollie was dreadfully grieved to find that he was partially intoxicated. He immediately gave the order to get under way, and went down into the cabin, leaving the mate to haul the vessel out of the dock.

Noddy made himself as useful as possible, and in a short time the Roebuck was clear of the wharf. The captain came on deck again, when the jib was hoisted, and the sails began to draw. The voyage had actually commenced, and Noddy did not believe that Mr. Grant and the constables would be able to catch him.



CHAPTER XII.

THE DRUNKEN CAPTAIN.

"Lay aloft, and help shake out the fore-topsail," said the captain to Noddy, who was standing by the wheel-man, watching the movements of the vessel. "Be lively! What are you staring at?"

The captain's tones were stern and ugly. He had evidently taken another glass of gin since he came on board. He was sufficiently intoxicated to be unreasonable, though he could walk straight, and understood perfectly what he was about. Noddy did not like the harsh tones in which the order was given, and he did not move as lively as he would have done if the words had been spoken pleasantly. He had not yet learned the duty of prompt obedience, be the tones what they may.

He went aloft, and helped the men who were at work on the topsail. As soon as the sheets were hauled home, the captain hailed him from the deck, and ordered him to shake out the fore-top-gallant sail. Noddy had moved so leisurely before, that the command came spiced with a volley of oaths; and the cabin-boy began to feel that he was getting something more than he had bargained for. He shook out the sail, and when the yard had been raised to its proper position, he went on deck again.

The Roebuck was dashing briskly along with a fresh southerly breeze; and if Noddy had not been troubled with a suspicion that something was wrong, he would have enjoyed the scene exceedingly. He had begun to fear that Captain McClintock was a tyrant, and that he was doomed to undergo many hardships before he saw his native land again.

"Don't be troubled, Noddy," said Mollie, in a low tone, as she placed herself by his side at the lee rail. "My father isn't cross very often."

"I don't like to be spoken to in that way," replied he, trying to banish a certain ill feeling which was struggling for expression in his words and manner.

"You mustn't mind that, Noddy. That's the way all sea captains speak."

"Is it?"

"It is indeed, Noddy. You must get used to it as quick as you can."

"I'll try," answered the cabin-boy; but he did not feel much like trying; on the contrary, he was more disposed to manifest his opposition, even at the risk of a "row," or even with the certain prospect of being worsted in the end.

Mollie, hoping that he would try, went aft again. She knew what her father was when partially intoxicated, and she feared that one who was high-spirited enough to face a dozen boys of his own size and weight, as Noddy had done in the street, would not endure the harsh usage of one made unreasonable by drinking. Some men are very cross and ugly when they are partially intoxicated, and very silly and good-natured when they are entirely steeped in the drunkard's cup. Such was Captain McClintock. If he continued his potations up to a certain point, he would pass from the crooked, cross-grained phase to that of the jolly, stupid, noisy debauchee. Entirely sober, he was entirely reasonable.

"Here, youngster!" called the captain, as he stepped forward to the waist, where Noddy was looking over the rail.

"Sir," replied Noddy rather stiffly, and without turning his head.

"Do you hear?" yelled the captain, filled with passion at the contempt with which he was treated by the boy.

"I hear," said Noddy, turning round as slowly as though he had a year in which to complete his revolution.

"Swab up that deck there; and if you don't move a little livelier than you have yet, I'll try a rope's end to your legs."

"No, you won't!" retorted Noddy, sharply, for he could endure a whipping as easily as he could a threat.

"Won't I?" cried the captain, as he seized a piece of rope from one of the belaying pins. "We'll see."

He sprang upon the high-spirited boy, and began to beat him in the most unmerciful manner. Noddy attempted to get away from him, but the captain had grasped him by the collar, and held on with an iron grip.

"Let me alone!" roared Noddy. "I'll knock your brains out if you don't let me alone!"

"We'll see!" gasped Captain McClintock, furious with passion and with gin.

Unfortunately for him, he did see when it was too late; for Noddy had laid hold of a wooden belaying pin, and aimed a blow with it at the head of his merciless persecutor. He did not hit him on the head, but the blow fell heavily on his shoulder, causing him to release his hold of the boy. Noddy, puffing like a grampus from the violence of the struggle, rushed forward to the forecastle.

The captain ordered the sailors to stop him; but either because they were not smart enough, or because they had no relish for the business, they failed to catch him, and the culprit ran out on the bowsprit. The angry man followed him as far as the bowsprit bitts, but prudence forbade his going any farther.

"Come here, you young rascal!" shouted the captain.

"I won't," replied Noddy, as he perched himself on the bight of the jib-stay.

"Come here, I say!"

"I'll go overboard before I go any nearer to you. I'm not going to be pounded for nothing."

"You'll obey orders aboard this vessel," replied the captain, whose passion was somewhat moderated by the delay which kept him from his victim.

"I'm ready to obey orders, and always have been," answered Noddy, who had by this time begun to think of the consequences of his resistance.

"Will you swab up the deck, as I told you?"

"I will, sir; but I won't be whipped by no drunken man.

"Drunken man!" repeated the captain. "You shall be whipped for that, you impudent young villain!"

The captain mounted the heel of the bowsprit, and was making his way up to the point occupied by the refractory cabin-boy, when Mollie reached the forecastle, and grasped her father in her little arms.

"Don't, father, don't!" pleaded she.

"Go away, Mollie," said he, sternly. "He is impudent and mutinous, and shall be brought to his senses."

"Stop, father, do stop!" cried Mollie, piteously.

He might as well stop, for by this time Noddy had mounted the jib-stay, and was halfway up to the mast head.

"He called me a drunken man, Mollie, and he shall suffer for it!" replied Captain McClintock, in tones so savage that the poor girl's blood was almost frozen by them.

"Stop, father!" said she, earnestly, as he turned to move aft again.

"Go away, child."

"He spoke the truth," replied she, in a low tone, as her eyes filled with tears, and she sobbed bitterly.

"The truth, Mollie!" exclaimed her father, as though the words from that beloved child had paralyzed him.

"Yes, father, you have been drinking again. You promised me last night—you know what you promised me," said she, her utterance broken by the violence of her emotions.

He looked at her in silence for an instant; but his breast heaved under the strong feelings which agitated him. That glance seemed to overcome him; he dropped the rope's end, and, rushing aft, disappeared down the companion-way. Mollie followed him into the cabin, where she found him with his head bent down upon the table, weeping like an infant.

Noddy leisurely descended from his perch at the mast head, from which he had witnessed this scene without hearing what was said; indeed, none of the crew had heard Mollie's bitter words, for she had spoken them in an impressive whisper.

"Well, youngster, you have got yourself into hot water," said the mate, when the boy reached the deck.

"I couldn't help it," replied Noddy, who had begun to look doubtfully at the future.

"Couldn't help it, you young monkey!"

Noddy was disposed at first to resent this highly improper language; but one scrap at a time was quite enough, and he wisely concluded not to notice the offensive remark.

"I'm not used to having any man speak to me in that kind of a way," added Noddy, rather tamely.

"You are not in a drawing-room! Do you think the cap'n is going to take his hat off to the cabin-boy?" replied the mate, indignantly.

"I don't ask him to take his hat off to me. He spoke to me as if I was a dog."

"That's the way officers do speak to men, whether it is the right way or not; and if you can't stand it, you've no business here."

"I didn't know they spoke in that way."

"It's the fashion; and when man or boy insults an officer as you did the captain, he always knocks him down; and serves him right too."

Noddy regarded the mate as a very reasonable man, though he swore abominably, and did not speak in the gentlest tones to the men. He concluded, therefore, that he had made a blunder, and he desired to get out of the scrape as fast as he could. The mate explained to him sundry things, in the discipline of a ship, which he had not before understood. He said that when sailors came on board of a vessel they expected more or less harsh words, and that it was highly impudent, to say the least, for a man to retort, or even to be sulky.

"Captain McClintock is better than half of them," he added; "and if the men do their duty, they can get along very well with him."

"But he was drunk," said Noddy.

"That's none of your business. If he was, it was so much the more stupid in you to attempt to kick up a row with him."

Noddy began to be of the same opinion himself; and an incipient resolution to be more careful in future was flitting through his mind, when he was summoned to the cabin by Mollie. He went below; the captain was not there—he had retired to his state-room; and his daughter sat upon the locker, weeping bitterly.

"How happy I expected to be! How unhappy I am!" sobbed she. "Noddy you have made me feel very bad."

"I couldn't help it; I didn't mean to make you feel bad," protested Noddy.

"My poor father!" she exclaimed, as she thought again that the blame was not the boy's alone.

"I am very sorry for what I did. I never went to sea before, and I didn't know the fashions. Where Is your father? Could I see him?"

"Not now; he has gone to his state-room. He will be better by and by."

"I want to see him when he comes out. I will try and make it right with him, for I know I was to blame," said Noddy, whose ideas were rapidly enlarging.

"I am glad to hear you say so, Noddy," added Mollie, looking up into his face with such a sad expression that he would have done anything to comfort her. "Now go on deck; but promise me that you will not be impudent to my father, whatever happens."

"I will not, Mollie."

Noddy went on deck. The Roebuck had passed out of the harbor. She was close-hauled, and headed to the southeast. She was pitching considerably, which was a strange motion to the cabin-boy, whose nautical experience had been confined to the Hudson River. But there was something exhilarating in the scene, and if Noddy's mind had been easy, he would have been delighted with the situation. The mate asked him some questions about the captain, which led to a further discussion of the matter of discipline on board a vessel.

"I want to do well, Mr. Watts," said Noddy. "My best friend gave me the motto, 'Work and Win;' and I want to do the very best I know how."

"I don't think you have begun very well. If you are impudent to your officers, I can assure you that you will work a great deal and win very little. Neither boy nor man can have all his own way in the world; and on board ship you will have to submit to a great many little things that don't suit you. The sooner you learn to do so with a good grace, the sooner you will be comfortable and contented."

"Thank you, Mr. Watts, for your good advice, and I will try to follow it."

"That's right," replied the mate, satisfied that Noddy was not a very bad boy, after all.

Noddy was fully determined to be a good boy, to obey the officers promptly, and not to be impudent, even if they abused him. Captain McClintock did not come on deck, or into the cabin, again that night. He had probably drank until he was completely overcome, and the vessel was left to the care of Mr. Watts, who was fortunately a good seaman and a skilful navigator. Noddy performed his duties, both on deck and in the cabin, with a zeal and fidelity which won the praise of the mate.

"Captain McClintock," said Noddy, when the master of the vessel came on deck in the morning.

"Well, what do you want, youngster?" replied the captain, in gruff and forbidding tones.

"I was wrong yesterday; I am very sorry for it, and I hope you will forgive me this time."

"It is no light thing to be saucy to the captain."

"I will never do so again," added Noddy.

"We'll see; if you behave well, I'll pass it by, and say nothing more about it."

"Thank you, sir."

The captain did not speak as though he meant what he said. It was evident from his conduct during the forenoon, that he had not forgotten, if he had forgiven, Noddy's impudent speech. He addressed him rather harshly, and appeared not to like his presence.

In the forenoon the vessel passed Highland Light, and before night Noddy saw the last of the land. There was a heavy blow in the afternoon, and the Roebuck pitched terribly in the great seas. The cabin-boy began to experience some new and singular sensations, and at eight bells in the evening he was so seasick that he could not hold up his head.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE SHARK.

For two days Noddy suffered severely from seasickness, and Mollie was full of tenderness and sympathy. Captain McClintock still mocked the poor child's hopes, and still broke the promises which should have been sacred, for he was intoxicated each day. On the second, while Noddy was lying in his berth, the captain, rendered brutal by the last dram he had taken, came out of his state-room, and halted near the sick boy.

"What are you in there for, you young sculpin?" said he. "Why are you not on deck, attending to your duty?"

"I am sick, sir," replied Noddy, faintly.

"Sick! We don't want any skulking of that sort on board this vessel. You want to shirk your duty. Turn out lively, and go on deck."

"But he is sick, father," said Mollie.

"Go away, Mollie. You will spoil the boy. Come, tumble out, youngster, or I shall bring down the rope's end," replied the captain.

The daughter pleaded for her patient; but the father was ugly and unreasonable, and persisted in his purpose. Noddy did not feel able to move. He was completely prostrated by the violence of his disagreeable malady; and five minutes before, he would not have considered it possible for him to get out of his berth. He must do so now or be whipped; for there was no more reason in the captain than there was in the main-mast of the schooner. He was not able to make any resistance, if he had been so disposed.

It was very hard to be obliged to go on deck when he was sick, especially as there was no need of his services there. He raised his head, and sat upright in the berth. The movement seemed completely to overturn his stomach again. But what a chance this was, thought he, to show poor Mollie that he was in earnest, and to convince her that he had really reformed his manners. With a desperate struggle he leaped out of his berth, and put on his jacket. The Roebuck was still pitching heavily, and it was almost impossible for him to keep on his feet. He had hardly tasted food for two days, and was very weak from the effects of his sickness.

He crawled on deck as well as he was able, followed by Captain McClintock, who regarded him with a look of malignant triumph. Poor Noddy felt like a martyr; but for Mollie's sake, he was determined to bear his sufferings with patience and resignation, and to obey the captain, even if he told him to jump overboard. He did what was almost as bad as this, for he ordered the sick boy to swab up the deck—an entirely useless operation, for the spray was breaking over the bow of the Roebuck, and the water was rushing in torrents out of the lee scuppers. But Noddy, true to his resolution, obeyed the order, and dragged his weary body forward to perform his useless task. For half an hour he labored against nature and the elements, and of course accomplished nothing. It was all "work" and no "win."

A boy who had the resolution and courage to face a dozen angry fellows as large as himself, certainly ought not to lack the power to overcome the single foe that beset him from within. Noddy was strong enough for the occasion, even in his present weakly condition. It was hard work, but the victory he won was a satisfactory reward.

The captain's vision was rather imperfect in his present state, and he took it into his head that the foretop-gallant sail was straining the topmast. Mr. Watts respectfully assured him the topmast was strong enough to stand the strain; but the master was set in his own opinion. Apparently his view was adopted for the occasion, for he ordered Noddy to go aloft and furl the sail. Mollie protested when she heard this order, for she was afraid Noddy was so weak that he would fall from the yard. The cabin-boy, strong in the victory he had just won, did not even remonstrate against the order; but, with all the vigor he could command, he went up the fore-rigging. He was surprised to find how much strength an earnest spirit lent to his weak body.

The pitching of the Roebuck rendered the execution of the order very difficult to one unaccustomed to the violent motion of a vessel in a heavy sea; but in spite of all the trials which lay in his path, he furled the sail. When he came down to the deck, the captain had gone below again, and the weary boy was permitted to rest from his severe labors. Instead of being overcome by them, he actually felt better than when he had left his berth. The fresh air, and the conquest of the will over the feeble body, had almost wrought a miracle in his physical frame. The mate told him that what he had done was the best thing in the world for seasickness; in fact, earnest exertion was the only remedy for the troublesome complaint.

At supper-time Noddy took some tea and ate a couple of ship biscuits with a good relish. He began to feel like a new person, and even to be much obliged to the captain for subjecting him to the tribulations which had wrought his cure. The next morning he ate a hearty breakfast, and went to his work with the feeling that "oft from apparent ills our blessings rise."

The captain kept sober during the next five days, owing, it was believed by Noddy, to the influence of his daughter, who had the courage to speak the truth to him. Shortly after the departure of the Roebuck, it had been ascertained that, from some impurity in the casks, the water on board was not fit for use; and the captain decided to put into Barbadoes and procure a fresh supply. When the schooner took a pilot, on the twelfth day out, it was found that the yellow fever was making terrible ravages in the island; but the water was so bad on board that the captain decided to go into port and remain long enough to procure new casks and a supply of water. If he had been entirely sober, he would undoubtedly have turned his bow at once from the infected island.

The Roebuck came to anchor, and the captain, regardless of his own safety, went on shore to transact the business. The casks were purchased, but it was impossible to get them on board before the next morning, and the vessel was compelled to remain at anchor over night. The weather was excessively hot in the afternoon, but towards night a cool breeze came in from the sea, which was very refreshing; and Noddy and Mollie were on deck, enjoying its invigorating breath. The boat in which the captain had just returned lay at the accommodation ladder. The confinement of twelve days on board the vessel had been rather irksome, and both of the young people would have been delighted to take a run on shore; but the terrible sickness there rendered such a luxury impossible. They observed with interest everything that could be seen from the deck, especially the verdure-crowned hills, and the valleys green with the rich vegetation of the country.

If they could not go on shore, they could at least move about a little in the boat, which would be some relief from the monotony of their confined home. They got into the boat with a warning from Mr. Watts not to go far from the schooner, and not to approach any other vessel, which might have the yellow fever on board. Noddy sculled about on the smooth water for a time, till it was nearly dark, and Mollie thought it was time to return on board. As she spoke, she went forward and stood up in the bow of the boat, ready to step upon the accommodation ladder.

"Noddy, do you see these great fishes in the water?" asked she.

"Yes, I see them."

"Do you know what they are?" continued she, as she turned to receive the answer.

She was accustomed to boats, and her familiarity with them made her as fearless as her companion.

"I never saw any like them before," replied Noddy, still sculling the boat towards the Roebuck.

"What do you think they are?" added she, with one of those smiles which children wear when they are conscious of being wiser than their companions.

"I haven't any idea what they are; but they look ugly enough to be snakes."

"I've seen lots of them before, and I know what they are. I like you very well, Noddy; and I ask you, as a particular favor, not to fall overboard," said she, with a smile, at what she regarded as a very pretty joke.

"What are they, Mollie?"

"They are sharks, Noddy."

"Sharks!" exclaimed the boy, who had heard Ben tell awful stories about the voracity of these terrible creatures.

"Yes, they are sharks, and big ones, too."

"Sit down, Mollie. I don't like to see you stand up there. You might fall overboard," said Noddy, who actually shuddered as he recalled the fearful stories he had heard about these savage fish.

"I'm not afraid. I'm just as safe here as I should be on board the Roebuck. I've seen sharks before, and got used to them. I like to watch them."

At that moment the boat struck upon something in the water, which might have been a log, or one of the ravenous monsters, whose back fins could be seen above the water, as they lay in wait for their prey. It was some heavy body, and it instantly checked the progress of the boat, and the sudden stoppage precipitated the poor girl over the bow into the sea. Noddy's blood seemed to freeze in his veins as he realized the horrible situation of Mollie in the water, surrounded by sharks. He expected to see her fair form severed in twain by the fierce creatures. He could swim like a duck, and his first impulse was to leap overboard, and save the poor girl or perish with her in the attempt.

A shout from the schooner laden with the agony of mortal anguish saluted his ears as Mollie struck the water. It was the voice of Captain McClintock, who had come on deck, and had witnessed the fearful catastrophe. The voice went to Noddy's soul. He saw the slight form of Mollie as she rose to the surface, and began to struggle towards the boat. The cabin-boy sculled with all his might for an instant, which brought the boat up to the spot; but he was horrified to see that she was followed by a monstrous shark. Noddy seized the boat-hook, and sprang forward just as the greedy fish was turning over upon his side, with open mouth, to snap up his prey.

Noddy, aware that the decisive moment for action had come, and feeling, as by instinct, that a miscalculation on his part would be fatal to poor Mollie, poised his weapon, and made a vigorous lunge at the savage fish. By accident, rather than by design, the boat-hook struck the shark in the eye; and with a fearful struggle he disappeared beneath the surface. Grasping the extended arm of Mollie, he dragged her into the boat before another of the monsters could attack her.

"O, Noddy!" gasped she, as she sank down upon the bottom of the boat, overcome by terror, rather than by her exertions,—for she had been scarcely a moment in the water.

"You are safe now, Mollie. Don't be afraid," said Noddy, in soothing tones, though his own utterance was choked by the fearful emotions he had endured.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, I thank thee that thou hast preserved my life, and saved me from the terrible shark," said Mollie, as she clasped her hands and looked up to the sky.

It was a prayer from the heart, and the good Father seemed to be nearer to Noddy than ever before. He felt that some other hand than his own had directed the weapon which had vanquished the shark.

"O, Noddy, you have saved me," cried Mollie, as she rose from her knees, upon which she had thrown herself before she uttered her simple but devout prayer.

"I am so glad you are safe, Mollie! But was it me that saved you?" asked Noddy, as he pointed up to the sky, with a sincere feeling that he had had very little to do with her preservation, though he was so deeply impressed by the event that he could not utter the sacred name of the Power which in that awful moment seemed to surround him, and to be in his very heart.

"It was God who preserved me," said she, looking reverently upward again; "but he did it through you; and I may thank you, too, for what you have done. O, Noddy, you have been my best earthly friend; for what would my poor father have done if the shark had killed me?"

Noddy sculled towards the Roebuck, for he knew that Captain McClintock was anxiously awaiting their return. When the boat touched the accommodation ladder, the anxious father sprang on board, not knowing even then that his daughter was entirely safe. He had seen Noddy draw her into the boat, but he feared she had lost a leg or an arm, for he was aware that the harbor swarmed with the largest and fiercest of the merciless "sea-pirates."

"My poor child!" exclaimed he, as he clasped her in his arms, dreading even then to know the worst.

"Dear father!" replied she.

"Are you hurt?"

"Not at all."

"Were there any sharks out there?"

"I guess there were!" replied she, significantly.

"One of them had just heeled over to snap at her," added Noddy. "I never was so frightened in my life."

"Good Heaven!" gasped the captain.

"I gave myself up for lost," said Mollie, shuddering, as she recalled that fearful moment.

"Well, what prevented him from taking hold of you?" asked Captain McClintock, who had not been near enough to discern precisely what had taken place in the boat.

"Noddy saved me, father. He jammed the boat-hook right into the shark's head. In another instant the creature would have had me in his mouth. O, father, it was such an awful death to think of—to be bitten by a shark!"

"Horrible!" groaned the father. "Noddy, your hand! You and I shall be friends to the last day of my life."

"Thank you, sir," replied the heroic boy, as he took the proffered hand. "I did the best I could; but I was so scared! I was afraid the shark would catch her in spite of me."

"God bless you, Noddy! But come on board, and we will talk it over."

Captain McClintock handed Mollie, still dripping with water, to Mr. Watts, who had been an interested spectator of the touching scene in the boat; and she was borne to the cabin amid the congratulations of the crew, with whom she was a great favorite.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE YELLOW FEVER.

Mollie went to her state-room, and changed her clothes; and she did not come out till she had kneeled down and poured forth another prayer of thanksgiving for her safety from the horrible monster that would have devoured her. Her father kissed her again, as she returned to the cabin. He was as grateful as she was, and he took no pains to conceal the emotions which agitated him.

"Now tell me all about it, Mollie," said he. "How happened you to fall overboard?"

"I was careless, father. Noddy was persuading me to sit down at the moment when I went overboard," replied she.

"I was afraid of the sharks as soon as I knew what they were; and I was thinking what an awful thing it would be if she should fall overboard," added Noddy.

"If I had minded you, Noddy, I shouldn't have been in danger."

The story was told by the two little adventurers, each correcting or helping out the other, till the whole truth was obtained. It was evident to the captain and the mate, that Noddy had behaved with vigor and decision, and that, if he had been less prompt and energetic, poor Mollie must have become the victim of the ravenous shark.

"You have saved her life, Noddy; that's plain enough," said Captain McClintock, as he rose and went to his state-room.

"You were smart, my boy, and you deserve a great deal of credit," added Mr. Watts.

"I don't mind that; I was too glad to get her out of the water to think of anything else."

"Well, Noddy, you did good work that time, and you have won a great deal of honor by it."

"You shall win something better than that, Noddy," said the captain, as he returned to the cabin with a little bag in his hand. "Here are ten gold pieces, my boy—one hundred dollars."

He handed Noddy the bright coins; but the little hero's face flushed, and he looked as discontented as though he had been robbed of the honor of his exploit.

"You shall win a hundred dollars by the operation," continued the captain.

"Thank you, sir, but I don't want any money for that," replied Noddy, whose pride revolted at the idea, however tempting the money looked to him.

"Take it, Noddy. You have done a good piece of work, and you ought to win something for it," added the captain.

"I don't want to win any money for a job like that, Captain McClintock. I am already well paid for what I have done. I can't take any money for it. I feel too good already; and I am afraid if I take your gold I should spoil it all."

"You are as proud as a lord, Noddy."

"I'm sure, if we had lost Miss Mollie, I should have missed her as much as anybody, except her father. I shouldn't feel right to be paid for doing such a thing as knocking a shark in the head. I hated the monster bad enough to kill him, if he hadn't been going to do any mischief."

"Then you won't take this money, Noddy?" continued the captain.

"I'd rather not, sir. I shouldn't feel right if I did."

"And I shouldn't feel right if you didn't. You don't quite understand the case, Noddy."

"I think I do, sir."

"No, you don't. Let me tell you about it. You have done something which fills me with gratitude to you. I want to do something to express that gratitude. I don't know that I can do it in any other way just now than by making you a little present. I don't mean to pay you."

"It looks like that."

"No it don't look a bit like it. Do you think I value my daughter's life at no more than a hundred dollars?"

"I know you do, captain."

"If I expected to pay you for what you have done, I should give you every dollar I have in the world, and every dollar which my property would bring if it were sold; and then I should feel that you had not half got your due."

"I don't care about any money, sir," persisted Noddy.

"Let me make you a present, then. It would make me feel better to do something for you."

"I'm sure I would do anything to accommodate you."

"Then take the money."

Noddy took it very reluctantly, and felt just as though he was stealing it. Mr. Watts joined with the captain in arguing the matter, and he finally felt a little better satisfied about it. When he realized that he was the honest possessor of so large a sum, he felt like a rich man, and could not help thinking of the pleasure it would afford him to pour all these gold coins into Bertha's lap, and tell how he had won them.

Mollie had something to say about the matter, and of course she took her father's side of the question; and the captain concluded the debate by assuring Noddy, if his daughter had to die, he would give more than a hundred dollars to save her from the maw of a shark, that she might die less horribly by drowning. On the whole, the cabin-boy was pretty well satisfied that he had won the money honestly, and he carefully bestowed it with his clothing in his berth.

Early in the morning Mr. Watts went on shore with a boat's crew, to commence bringing off the water casks. It required the whole forenoon to remove the old casks, and stow the new ones in the hold. About eleven o'clock the mate complained of a chilly sensation, and a pain in his back, which was followed up by a severe headache. He was soon compelled to leave his work, and take to his berth in the cabin. The next boat from the shore brought off a surgeon, who promptly pronounced the disease the yellow fever.

Before the Roebuck could get off, two of the sailors were attacked by the terrible malady. The only safety for the rest was in immediate flight; and the schooner got under way, and stood out to sea. The doctor had left ample directions for the treatment of the disease, but the medicines appeared to do no good. Mr. Watts was delirious before night. The two men in the forecastle were no better, and the prospect on board the vessel was as gloomy as it could be.

Mollie stood by the sufferer in the cabin, in spite of the protest of her father. She knew what the fever was; but she seemed to be endued with a courage which was more than human. She nursed the sick man tenderly, and her simple prayer for his recovery ascended every hour during the long night. One of the men forward died before morning, and was committed to the deep by his terrified messmates, without even a form of prayer over his plague-stricken remains.

Towards night, on the second day out of Barbadoes, Mr. Watts breathed his last. By the light of the lanterns, his cold form was placed on a plank extended over the rail. Mollie would not permit him to be buried in his watery grave without a prayer, and Captain McClintock read one. Many tears were shed over him, as his body slid off into the sea. Noddy and Mollie wept bitterly, for they felt that they had lost a good friend.

There was only one more patient on board, and he seemed to be improving; but before the morning sun rose, red and glaring on the silent ocean, there were three more. Captain McClintock was one of them. There was none to take care of him but Mollie and Noddy; and both of them, regardless of the demands of their own bodies, kept vigil by his couch. More faithful nurses a sick man never had. They applied the remedies which had been used before.

On the following day two more of the crew were committed to their ocean graves, and despair reigned throughout the vessel. The captain grew worse every hour, and poor Mollie was often compelled to leave the bedside that he might not see her weeping over him. He soon became delirious, and did not even know her.

"O, Noddy," exclaimed she, when she fully realized the situation of her father, "I shall soon be alone."

"Don't give up, Mollie," replied the cabin-boy sadly.

"I have prayed till I fear my prayers are no longer heard," sobbed she.

"Yes, they are, Mollie. Don't stop praying," said Noddy, who knew that the poor girl had derived a great deal of hope and comfort from her prayers.

He had seen her kneel down when she was almost overcome by the horrors which surrounded them, and rise as calm and hopeful as though she had received a message direct from on high. Perhaps he had no real faith in her prayers, but he saw what strength she derived from them. Certainly they had not warded off the pestilence, which was still seeking new victims on board. But they were the life of Mollie's struggling existence; and it was with the utmost sincerity that he had counselled her to continue them.

"My father will die!" groaned the poor girl. "Nothing can save him now."

"No, he won't die. He isn't very bad yet, Mollie."

"O, yes, he is. He does not speak to me; he does not know me."

"He is doing very well, Mollie. Don't give it up yet."

"I feel that he will soon leave me."

"No, he won't, Mollie. I know he will get well," said Noddy, with the most determined emphasis.

"How do you know?"

"I feel that he will. He isn't half so bad as Mr. Watts was. Cheer up, and he will be all right in a few days."

"But think how terrible it would be for my poor father to die, away here in the middle of the ocean," continued Mollie, weeping most bitterly, as she thought of the future.

"But he will not die; I am just as sure that he will get well, as I am that I am alive now."

Noddy had no reason whatever for this strong assertion, and he made it only to comfort his friend. It was not made in vain, for the afflicted daughter was willing to cling to any hope, however slight, and the confident words of the boy made an impression upon her. The morrow came, and the captain was decidedly better; but from the forecastle came the gloomy report that two more of the men had been struck down by the disease.

There were but three seamen left who were able to do duty, and Mr. Lincoln, the second mate, was nearly exhausted by watching and anxiety. Fortunately, the weather had been fine, and the Roebuck had been under all sail, with a fair wind. Noddy had obtained a little sleep during the second night of the captain's illness, and he went on deck to report to the mate for duty. He was competent to steer the vessel in a light breeze, and he was permitted to relieve the man at the wheel.

He stood his trick of two hours, and then went below, to ascertain the condition of the captain. As he descended the ladder, he discovered the form of Mollie extended on one of the lockers. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily. Noddy was appalled at this sight, for he knew too well what these indications meant.

"What is the matter, Mollie?" asked he, hardly able to speak the words from the violence of his emotion.

"It is my turn now, Noddy," replied she, in faint tones. "Who will pray for me?"

"I will, Mollie; but what ails you?"

"I am burning up with heat, and perishing with cold. My back feels as if it was broken, and the pain darts up through my neck into my head. I know very well what it means. You will take care of my poor father—won't you, Noddy?"

"To be sure I will. You must turn in, Mollie, and let me take care of you, too," said he, trying to be as calm as the terrible situation required of him.

He assisted the stricken maiden to her state-room, and placed her in her berth. Taking from the medicine chest the now familiar remedy, he gave her the potion, and tenderly ministered to all her wants. She was very sick, for she had struggled with the destroying malady for hours before she yielded to its insidious advances.

"Thank you, Noddy. I feel better now, and I shall soon be happy. Go now and see to my father; don't let him want for anything."

"I will not, Mollie; I will take first-rate care of him," answered Noddy, as he smoothed down the clothing around her neck.

"My father is the captain of the ship, you know," added she, with a smile. "He is a great man; bigger than any shark you ever saw."

Her mind had begun to wander already; and her patient nurse could hardly keep down his tears, as he gazed at her flushed cheeks, and smoothed down the curls upon her neck. She was beautiful to him—too beautiful to die there in mid ocean, with none but rude men to shed great tears over her silent form. How he wished that Bertha was there, to watch over that frail little form, and ward off the grim tyrant that was struggling to possess it! She would not fear the pangs of the pestilence; she would be an angel in the little state-room, and bring down peace and hope, if not life, to the lovely sufferer.

Noddy felt as he had never felt before, not even when the dread monster of the deep had almost snapped up the slight form before him. All the good lessons he had ever learned in his life came to him with a force they had never possessed in the sunny hour of prosperity. He wanted to pray. He felt the need of a strength not his own. Mollie could not pray now. Her mind was darkened by the shadows of disease. He went out into the cabin. It looked as cheerless, and cold, and gloomy, as the inside of a tomb. But God was there; and though Noddy could not speak the words of his prayer, his heart breathed a spirit which the infinite Father could understand. He prayed, as he had promised the sick girl he would, and the strength which prayer had given to her was given to him.

"Here is work for me," said he, as he approached the door of the captain's state-room. "But I am able to do it. I will never give up this work."

He did not know what he was to win by this work of love, amid trials and tribulation. He had struggled with the disposition to despond; he had worked like a hero to keep his spirits up; and that which he was called upon to do with his hands was small and trivial compared with that which was done by his mind and heart. He had conquered fear and despair.

Thus prepared to battle with the giant ills which surrounded him, he entered Captain McClintock's room.



CHAPTER XV.

THE DEMON OF THE CUP.

"Is that you, Noddy?" asked the captain, faintly.

"Yes, sir. How do you feel, captain?"

"I think I'm a little better. I wish you would ask Mollie to come in; I want to see her."

"Does your head ache now, sir?" asked Noddy, who did not like to tell him that his daughter had just been taken with the fever.

"Not so bad as it did. Just speak to Mollie."

"I think you are ever so much better, sir. You will be out in a day or two."

"Do you think so, Noddy?"

"Yes, sir; I'm certain you will," answered the boy, who knew that faith was life in the present instance.

"I'm glad you think so. I certainly feel a great deal better," replied the captain, as though he was already cheered by the inspiration of hope.

"You must be careful, and keep still; and you will be all right in a week, at the most."

"I hope so; for I couldn't help thinking, when I was taken down, what a bitter thing it would be to poor Mollie if I should die so far from home and friends."

"You have got over the worst of it now, captain."

"Is Mollie out in the cabin?" asked the sufferer, persistently returning to the subject near his heart.

"No, sir; she is not, just now."

"Has she gone on deck?"

"No, sir."

"Where is she, Noddy?" demanded he, earnestly, as he attempted to raise himself up in his cot.

"Don't stir, captain; it will make you worse, if you do."

"Tell me where Mollie is at once, or I shall jump out of my berth. Is she—is she—"

"She is in her room, captain. Don't be worried about her," replied Noddy, who was afraid that the truth would have a bad effect upon the devoted father. "She laid down a little while ago."

"Is she dead?" gasped the captain, with a mighty effort to utter the appalling word.

"O, no, sir! She was taken sick a little while ago."

"O, mercy!" groaned the sick man. "I know it all now."

"It's no use to deny it, sir. She has got the fever."

"And I lay here helpless!"

"She said she felt a little better when I came out. I gave her the medicine, and did everything for her."

"I must go to her."

"You will worry her to death, if you do, captain. She is more troubled about you than she is about herself. If you lay still, so I can report that you are doing well, it will be the best thing in the world for her. It will do her more good than the medicine."

"Tell her I am well, Noddy!"

"It won't do to tell her too much; she won't believe anything, if I do," said Noddy, sorely troubled about the moral management of the cases.

"Tell her I am well, Noddy; and I will go and sit by her," replied the sufferer, who was no more able to get out of his bed than he was to cure the fearful disease.

"I can't do anything, captain, if you don't keep still in your bed. She is a little out just now; but I think she will do very well, if you only let her alone."

Captain McClintock was in an agony of suspense; but Noddy succeeded in consoling him so that he promised to remain quietly in his bed. As physician and nurse, as well as friend and comforter, the cabin-boy found his hands full; but he had a heart big enough for the occasion; and all day and all night he went from one patient to another, ministering to their wants with as much skill and judgment as though he had been trained in a sick room.

Mollie grow worse as the hours wore heavily away; but this was to be expected, and the patient nurse was not discouraged by the progressive indications of the disease. Towards morning the captain went to sleep; but it required all the faithful boy's energies to keep Mollie in her bed, as she raved with the heated brain of the malady.

In the morning one of the seamen was reported out of danger, and the others in a hopeful condition. Noddy was completely exhausted by his labors and his solicitude. Mr. Lincoln saw that he could endure no more; and as he had obtained a few hours' sleep on deck during the night, he insisted that the weary boy should have some rest, while he took care of the sick. Noddy crawled into his berth, and not even his anxiety for poor Mollie could keep him awake any longer. He slept heavily, and the considerate mate did not wake him till dinner-time, when he sprang from his berth and hastened to the couch of the sick girl.

Another day passed, and Mollie began to exhibit some hopeful symptoms. Her father was still improving. The patients in the forecastle were also getting better. Noddy felt that no more of the Roebuck's people were to be cast into the sea. Hope gave him new life. He was rested and refreshed by the bright prospect quite as much as by the sleep which the kindness of Mr. Lincoln enabled him to obtain.

The schooner still sped on her course with favoring breezes; while Noddy, patient and hopeful, performed the various duties which the fell disease imposed upon him. He had not regarded the danger of taking the fever himself. He had no thought now for any one but poor Mollie, who was daily improving. One by one the crew, who had been stricken down with the malady, returned to the deck; but it was a long time before they were able to do their full measure of duty. In a week after Mollie was taken sick, her father was able to sit a portion of the day by her side; and a few days later, she was able to sit up for a few moments.

The terrible scourge had wasted itself; but the chief mate and three of the crew had fallen victims to the sad visitation. Yellow fever patients convalesce very slowly; and it was a fortnight before Captain McClintock was able to go on deck; but at the same time, Mollie, weak and attenuated by her sufferings, was helped up the ladder by her devoted friend and nurse. The cloud had passed away from the vessel, and everybody on board was as happy as though disease and death had never invaded those wooden walls. But the happiness was toned to the circumstances. Hearts had been purified by suffering. Neither the officers nor the men swore; they spoke to each other in gentle tones, as though the tribulations through which they had passed had softened their hearts, and bound them together in a holier than earthly affection.

As Mr. Watts and three sailors had died, the vessel was short-handed, but not crippled; and the captain decided to prosecute his voyage without putting into any port for assistance. Mr. Lincoln was appointed chief mate, and a second mate was selected from the forecastle. Everything went along as before the storm burst upon the devoted vessel.

"How happy I am, Noddy!" exclaimed Mollie, as they sat on deck one afternoon, when she had nearly recovered her strength. "My father was saved, and I am saved. How grateful I am!"

"So am I, Mollie," replied Noddy.

"And how much we both owe to you! Wasn't it strange you didn't take the fever?"

"I think it was."

"Were you not afraid of it?"

"I didn't think anything about it, any way; but I feel just as though I had gone through with the fever, or something else."