Harry Mulford would have enjoyed this conversation to the top of his bent, had it not been for Rose.  She well knew her aunt’s general weakness of intellect, and especially its weakness on this particular subject, but she would suffer no one to manifest contempt for either, if in her power to prevent it.  It is seldom one so young, so mirthful, so ingenuous and innocent in the expression of her countenance, assumed so significant and rebuking a frown as did pretty Rose Budd when she heard the mate’s involuntary exclamation about the “twelve masts.”  Harry, who was not easily checked by his equals, or any of his own sex, submitted to that rebuking frown with the meekness of a child, and stammered out, in answer to the well-meaning, but weak-minded widow’s question—­“If you please, Mrs. Budd—­just as you please, ma’am—­only twelve is a good many masts—­” Rose frowned again—­“that is—­more than I’m used to seeing—­that’s all.”

“I dare say, Mr. Mulford—­for you sail in only a half-jigger; but Capt.  Budd always sailed in a full-jigger—­and his full-jiggered ship had just twelve masts, and, to prove it to you, I’ll give you the names—­first then, there were the fore, main, and mizen masts—­”

“Yes—­yes—­ma’am,” stammered Harry, who wished the twelve masts and The Rose In Bloom at the bottom of the ocean, since her owner’s niece still continued to look coldly displeased—­“that’s right, I can swear!”

“Very true, sir, and you’ll find I am right as to all the rest.  Then, there were the fore, main, and mizen top-masts—­they make six, if I can count, Mr. Mulford?”

“Ah!” exclaimed the mate, laughing, in spite of Rose’s frowns, as the manner in which the old sea-dog had quizzed his wife became apparent to him.  “I see how it is—­you are quite right, ma’am—­I dare say The Rose In Bloom had all these masts, and some to spare.”

“Yes, sir—­I knew you would be satisfied.  The fore, main and mizen top-gallant-masts make nine—­and the fore, main and mizen royals make just twelve.  Oh, I’m never wrong in anything about a vessel, especially if she is a full-jiggered ship.”

Mulford had some difficulty in restraining his smiles each time the full-jigger was mentioned, but Rose’s expression of countenance kept him in excellent order—­and she, innocent creature, saw nothing ridiculous in the term, though the twelve masts had given her a little alarm.  Delighted that the old lady had got through her enumeration of the spars with so much success, Rose cried, in the exuberance of her spirits—­“Well, aunty, for my part, I find a half-jigger vessel, so very, very beautiful, that I do not know how I should behave were I to go on board a full-jigger.”

Mulford turned abruptly away, the circumstance of Rose’s making herself ridiculous giving him sudden pain, though he could have laughed at her aunt by the hour.