"P'raps I may, some time," he responded. "Kind o' hev a feelin' it 'll come about. Now, if I had a ship this minute a-layin' at the foot o' King Street in St. John, why. Wood and Guthrie'd give me a cargo. Yes, sir! They know me. That's what 'ud happen. Hmm! So good 't won't come true."
Although the lame foot soon grew sound again, they found their evenings too pleasant to forego. The captain begged, worthy Mrs. Gildersleeve took his side, and Joyce was glad enough to remain in what seemed to be her first home. The winter crept along, through blind storm and freezing brightness.
One day, as Captain Christy sat at breakfast, Zwinglius darted in, stuttering:—
"She-she-she—she's nosin' round galley-west and crookit, cap'n! Nobody can't make out what she's aimin' fer to do!"
"Who?" the captain asked severely.
"Why, this here ship," stammered the mate. "She's a-gormin' round the bay,—three ways fer Sunday."
The captain strode to the entry, fought his way into an overcoat, hauled down the ear-
