“Cheer up, Ruby; never say die so long as there’s a shot in the locker.  That’s the advice of an old salt, an’ you’ll find it sound, the more you ponder of it.  Wen a young feller sails away on the sea of life, let him always go by chart and compass, not forgettin’ to take soundin’s w’en cruisin’ off a bad coast.  Keep a sharp lookout to wind’ard, an’ mind yer helm—­that’s my advice to you lad, as ye go

          ‘A-sailin’ down life’s troubled stream,
          All as if it wor a dream’”.

The captain had a somewhat poetic fancy (at least he was impressed with the belief that he had), and was in the habit of enforcing his arguments by quotations from memory.  When memory failed he supplemented with original composition.

“Goodbye, lad, an’ Providence go wi’ ye.”

“Goodbye, uncle.  I need not remind you to look after mother when I’m away.”

“No, nephy, you needn’t; I’ll do it whether or not.”

“And Minnie, poor thing, she’ll need a word of advice and comfort now and then, uncle.”

“And she shall have it, lad,” replied the captain with a tremendous wink, which was unfortunately lost on the nephew, in consequence of its being night and unusually dark, “advice and comfort on demand, gratis; for

          ’Woman, in her hours of ease,
          Is most uncommon hard to please’;

but she must be looked arter, ye know, and made of, d’ye see? so Ruby, boy, farewell.”

Half-an-hour before midnight was the time chosen for the sailing of the sloop Termagant, in order that she might get away quietly and escape the press-gang.  Ruby and his uncle had taken the precaution to go down to the harbour just a few minutes before sailing, and they kept as closely as possible to the darkest and least-frequented streets while passing through the town.

Captain Ogilvy returned by much the same route to his sister’s cottage, but did not attempt to conceal his movements.  On the contrary, knowing that the sloop must have got clear of the harbour by that time, he went along the streets whistling cheerfully.  He had been a noted, not to say noisy, whistler when a boy, and the habit had not forsaken him in his old age.  On turning sharp round a corner, he ran against two men, one of whom swore at him, but the other cried—­

“Hallo! messmate, yer musical the night.  Hey, Captain Ogilvy, surely I seed you an’ Ruby slinkin’ down the dark side o’ the market-gate half an ’oor ago?”

“Mayhap ye did, an’ mayhap ye didn’t,” retorted the captain, as he walked on; “but as it’s none o’ your business to know, I’ll not tell ye.”

“Ay, ay?  O but ye’re a cross auld chap.  Pleasant dreams t’ ye.”

This kindly remark, which was expressed by our friend Davy Spink, was lost on the captain, in consequence of his having resumed his musical recreation with redoubled energy, as he went rolling back to the cottage to console Mrs. Brand, and to afford “advice and comfort gratis” to Minnie Gray.