“No wonder,” observed Jack; “these pigeons are carriers, and naturally suggest wandering.”

Once more seated round the table, Fritz, observing that the misunderstanding between Willis and the chimpanzee still continued, thrust a plate into the hand of the latter, and pointed with his finger to Willis.  This time Jocko obeyed, for the language was intelligible, and he went and placed the plate before his master.

“Ho, ho!” cried Willis, “so you have come to your senses at last, have you?  Well, that saves you an extra lesson to-morrow, you lubber you.”

“He takes rather long to obey your orders, though, Willis; it is rather awkward to wait an hour for anything you ask for.  What system do you pursue in educating him—­the Pestalozzian or the parochial?”

“We follow the system in fashion aboard ship,” replied Willis.

“And what does that consist of?”

“A rope’s end.”

“Oh, then, you are an advocate for the birch, are you?” said Wolston; “it is, doubtless, a very good thing when moderately and judiciously administered.  That puts me in mind of the missionary and the king of the Kuruman negroes.”

“A tribe of Southern Africa, is it not?”

“Yes, the missionary and the king were great friends.  The king not only permitted him to baptize his subjects, but offered to whip them all into Christianity in a week.  This summary mode of proselytism did not, however, coincide with the Englishman’s ideas, and he refused the offer, although the king insisted that it was the only kind of argument that could ever reach their understandings.”

The day at length drew to a close, and, though no one asked the time yet all felt that the moment of departure was approaching; whether they were willing to go was doubtful, but at they were loth to depart was certain.

“It is time to return now,” said Becker, rising.

“Already!”

“There are some clouds in the distance that bode no good.”

“Nothing more than a little rain at worst,” said Jack.

“And your mother?” inquired Decker.

“Oh! we can make a palanquin for her.”

“Your plan, Jack, is not particularly bright; it puts me in mind of some genius or other that took shelter in the water to keep out of the wet.”

“Very odd,” said Jack, “we are always wishing for rain, and when it comes, we do all we can to keep out of its way.”

“That is, because we are neither green pease nor gooseberries,” said Ernest, drily.

“True, brother; and as the rain is your affair, perhaps you will be good enough to delay it for an hour or so.”

“I am sorry on my own account, as well as yours, that I have not yet discovered the art of controlling the skies.”

Here Fritz whispered a few words in his mother’s ear, that called up one of those ineffable smiles that the maternal heart alone can produce.

“Well,” said Mrs. Becker, “if you think so, deliver the message yourself.”