can’t spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth,” said the captain: “but wait a little,—in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your petite fortune.”

“Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage!” Jeannette held her finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, “méchant!” and then quitted the room.

“Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board.”

“I wish that girl wouldn’t come here with her nonsensical dreams,” said Morrison, taking his seat; “I don’t like it. When she said that we should be taken by a revenue-cutter, I was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, Now, if that be a warning, I will see: if the blue pigeon flies away first, I shall be in jail in a week; if the white, I shall be back here.”

“Well?” said Pickersgill, laughing.

“It wasn’t well,” answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the glass down with a deep sigh; “for the cursed blue pigeon flew away immediately.”

“Why, Morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon!” said Corbett, laughing and looking out of the window; “at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one.”

“It’s the first time that ever I was called chicken-hearted,” replied Morrison, in wrath.

“Nor do you deserve it, Morrison,” replied Pickersgill; “but Corbett is only joking.”

“Well, at all events, I’ll try my luck in the same way, and see whether I am to be in jail: I shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did.”

The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain Corbett’s fortune by this new species of augury. The blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. “Bravo, white pigeon!” said Corbett; “I shall be here again in a week.” The whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and Morrison’s countenance brightened up. As he took the glass of wine poured out by Pickersgill, he said, “Here’s your health, Corbett; it was all nonsense, after all—for, d’ye see, I can’t be put in jail, without you are. We all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel—so here’s success to our trip.”

“We will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board,” said the captain; “here’s success to our trip.”

The captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the Happy-go-lucky was clear of the port of Saint Malo.