“Yes, Madam Budd—­yes—­hem—­you are—­yes, you are wonderful in that way.  We shall soon get an offing, now, Madam Budd—­yes, soon get an offing, now.”

“And take in our departure, Captain Spike—­” added the widow, with a very intelligent smile.

“Yes, take our departure.  Montauk is yonder, just coming in sight; only some three hours’ run from this spot.  When we get there, the open ocean will lie before us; and give me the open sea, and I’ll not call the king my uncle.”

“Was he your uncle, Captain Spike?”

“Only in a philanthropic way, Madam Budd.  Yes, let us get a good offing, and a rapping to’gallant breeze, and I do not think I should care much for two of Uncle Sam’s new-fashioned revenue craft, one on each side of me.”

“How delightful do I find such conversation, Rose!  It’s as much like your poor, dear uncle’s, as one pea is like another. `Yes,’ he used to say, too, `let me only have one on each side of me, and a wrapper round the topgallant sail to hold the breeze, and I’d not call the king my uncle.’  Now I think of it, he used to talk about the king as his uncle, too.”

“It was all talk, aunty.  He had no uncle, and, what is more, he had no king.”

“That’s quite true, Miss Rose,” rejoined Spike, attempting a bow, which ended in a sort of jerk.  “It is not very becoming in us republicans to be talking of kings, but a habit is a habit.  Our forefathers had kings, and we drop into their ways without thinking of what we are doing.  Fore-topgallant yard, there?”

“Sir.”

“Keep a bright look-out, ahead.  Let me know the instant you make anything in the neighbourhood of Montauk.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“As I was saying, Madam Budd, we seamen drop into our forefathers’ ways.  Now, when I was a youngster, I remember, one day, that we fell in with a ketch—­you know, Miss Rose, what a ketch is, I suppose?”

“I have not the least notion of it, sir.”

“Rosy, you amaze me!” exclaimed the aunt—­“and you a ship-master’s niece, and a ship-master’s daughter!  A catch is a trick that sailors have, when they quiz landsmen.”

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; we have them sort of catches, too; but I now mean the vessel with a peculiar rig, which we call a ketch, you know.”

“Is it the full-jigger, or the half-jigger sort, that you mean?”

Spike could hardly stand this, and he had to hail the topgallant-yard again, in order to keep the command of his muscles, for he saw by the pretty frown that was gathering on the brow of Rose, that she was regarding the matter a little seriously.  Luckily, the answer of the man on the yard diverted the mind of the widow from the subject, and prevented the necessity of any reply.

“There’s a light, of course, sir, on Montauk, is there not, Captain Spike?” demanded the seaman who was aloft.

“To be sure there is—­every head-land, hereabouts, has its light; and some have two.”