disguised as a man, which dashed along the rocky shores at night.
But John Paul Jones had done nothing that the English did not try to do in America. He had the authority of his country for everything he did, and the real reason that he was so despised was because he was so successful.
It was now morning—the bright sun shone on the little “Ranger” as she bounded merrily over the waves until she sailed into the well-known bay where John Paul had seen the ships anchored when he was a little boy. He visited the old home, and for a few short hours trod once again the well-known grounds which once had been so dear. How strangely familiar these ancient haunts and landmarks must have seemed to the little boy who played among them twenty years before—so many things had happened since he went forth into the great world.
But time was precious, and he did not tarry long at the old place. He made a visit to the
