“The Swallow” was steady enough to inspire even Annie Foster with a feeling of confidence; but Ford carefully explained to her the difference between slipping over the little waves of the landlocked bay, and plunging into the gigantic billows of the stormy Atlantic.

“I prefer this,” said Annie.

“But I wouldn’t have missed the other for any thing,” replied Ford.  “Would you, Dick?”

Mr. Richard Lee had taken his full share in the work of starting, and had made himself singularly useful; but, if all the rest had not been so busy, they would surely have noticed his remarkable silence.  Hardly a word had he uttered that anybody could remember; and, now he was forced to say something, his mouth opened slowly, as if he had never tried to speak before, and was not quite sure he knew how.

“No—­Mr.—­Foster,—­I&
mdash;­would—­not—­have—­missed—­that—­trip—­for—­a—­good —­deal.”

Every word came out by itself, “afoot and alone,” and as different from Dick’s ordinary speech as a cut stone is from a rough one.  Ham Morris opened his eyes wide, and Ford puckered his lips into the shape of a still whistle; but Annie caught the meaning of it quicker than they did.

“Dick,” she said at once, “are we to fish to-day?”

“May—­be,—­but—­that—­depends—­on—­Mr. Morris.”

Every word was slowly and carefully uttered, a good deal in the manner of a man counting over a lot of money, and looking out sharp for counterfeits.

“Look here, Dick,” suddenly exclaimed Dab Kinzer, “I give it up:  you can do it.  But don’t you try to keep it up all day.  Kill you, sure as any thing, if you do.”

“Did I say ’em all right, Cap’n Dab?” anxiously inquired Dick, with a happy look on his merry black face.

“Every word,” said Dab; “but it’s well for you they were all short.  Keep on practising.”

“I’ll jes’ do dat, shuah!”

Practising?  Dick?

Yes, that was it; and he joined heartily in the peal of laughter with which the success of his first attempt at “w’ite folks’ English” was received by that party.

Dab explained, that, as soon as Dick found he was really to go to the academy, he determined to teach his tongue new habits; and the whole company heartily approved, even while they joined Dab in advising him not to attempt too much at a time.

“You might sprain your tongue over a big word,” said Ford.

There was an abundance of talk and fun all around, as “The Swallow” skimmed onward; and the outlines of the long, low sand-island were rapidly becoming more distinct.

Nearer they drew, and nearer.

“Is that a light-house, away over there?” asked Annie of Dab.

“Yes, that’s a light-house; and there’s a wrecking-station, close down by it.”

“A wrecking-station?”

“I say,” said Ford, “are there men there all the while?  Are there many wrecks on this coast?”