for every one, besides oddments unaddressed which his nieces appropriated at their fancy. Settled in the arm-chair, with a big calabash pipe in his mouth, he plunged his hand into a pocket, and brought out the red bandana handkerchief.

"That's your flag," cried Tommy. "Be quick!"

"Patience," he replied, producing a tin of tobacco and a knife.

"We'll let you keep them," said Mary. "What next, Uncle?"

"Well, here's a small parcel with somebody's name on it, and it looks uncommon like Mary."

Mary seized the parcel, opened it, and uttered a cry of delight as she unfolded a pretty Indian scarf.

"Oh, you dear!" she cried, giving him a kiss.

He plunged his hand again into his pocket and drew out slowly and with a solemn air that made the girls agog with expectation—a short cutty pipe, at which they cried "Shame!" Then came another small parcel, marked with Elizabeth's name, which proved to contain a tortoiseshell comb with silver mountings. Another dip brought forth a bright round silver case with a long cord hanging from a hole in the side. Tommy pounced on this.

"What is it, Uncle?" she asked.

"It's a contraption for getting a light in a wind, given me by an old friend in Valparaiso," replied the Captain. "'Twas kindly meant, to be sure, but I've never used it, for I've never had any difficulty in lighting my pipe in any wind that ever blew short of a typhoon, and then a man has other things to think about. I'll show you how it's done, and you can keep it against the time when you're an old woman and go round selling things from a caravan: old women of that sort always smoke."

"The idea!" exclaimed Tommy, but when her uncle had shown her how to obtain a spark by turning a little handle sharply, and how the spark ignited the cord, she took the thing and slipped it into her pocket.

Then at last came the parcel for which Tommy had been eagerly waiting, and she gave a long sigh of pleasure as she drew through her fingers a scarf of exquisite fineness like Mary's.

"You're a darling!" she cried, giving her uncle a tight hug, and at the same time knocking his pipe from his mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said contritely. "Never mind, I'll fill it again for you."

Captain Barton took from his pockets sundry other articles which he divided among the girls, as well as a queer assortment of his personal belongings. When all his pockets were empty, Tommy said—

"Now you can put all that rubbish back; see what a litter it makes!"

"For what you don't want, I return humble and hearty thanks," said the Captain, using a form of words which they had heard from his lips ever since they were babies. "And now if you can think of anything but fal-lals, we'll settle down and have a cosy talk about things. Draw your chairs up to the fire, girls."

CHAPTER III

LEAVING HOME

Uncle Ben listened attentively as Elizabeth gave an account of affairs at the farm. He did not interrupt her, but now and then muttered an ejaculation through a cloud of smoke. Elizabeth was clear-headed, and did not take long to explain the position to her uncle. It was impossible to keep on the farm without capital, and the Captain, though he had a good sum laid by, was not the man to risk his money in a business of which he knew nothing. So the farm must be sold, and it was clear that when everything was settled up, there would be little or nothing left for the girls to live on. They mentioned the ideas they had had of earning their living, and the obstacles in the way; and Captain Barton puffed at his pipe, and pulled his beard, and every now and then stroked Tommy's hair as she leant against his knee.

"Hum!" he grunted, when all had said their say. "There's only one way out of the difficulty that I can see."

He paused impressively, and the girls looked at him with expectation.

"And that is," he went on, weighing each word, "to get you spliced."

"Spliced!" cried Tommy. "Married, you mean? Me married!"

"Well, not you, perhaps—not yet a bit, seeing you are only a little tomboy sort of thing——"

"Thing! how dare you!" cried Tommy, pummelling her uncle's leg.

"I meant a thing of beauty, my dear," said he meekly, "which, as the poet says, is a joy for ever."

"He wouldn't think me a joy for long, I can tell you," returned Tommy. "But, really, it's too ridiculous. Bess, you don't want to get married?"

"Not for a living, certainly," said Elizabeth.

"Of course not," added Mary.

"Well, that's squashed," cried Tommy, "and if you can't think of anything better, Captain Barton—why, you're not married yourself!"

"No, my dear, I've never tried," replied her uncle apologetically. "Well, now, there's that notion I mentioned a while ago—a little cottage by the sea, you know; we four—me and the three Graces, eh?"

"It would be simply awful, Uncle," cried Tommy. "Whatever should we do all day? We should all become perfect cats, and you'd have a simply horrid time. No, if you want us to live with you, you must take a house somewhere where we could work—earn our salt, you know. I'm not going to be a burden to anybody."

"That's a fine spirit, to be sure. Then it must be London, I suppose, Deptford way or Rotherhithe; one of you could keep house for me, and the others could go to classes, and learn teaching or whatever it is you want to do. What do you think of that, now?"

"I should love to keep house for you, Uncle," said Elizabeth.

"And Mary and I would love to do the other thing, wouldn't we, Mary?" cried Tommy. "So it's settled, and you'd better advertise for a house at once, Uncle."

"Steady, my dear. As I told you, I must make one more voyage. I've a heap of things to settle up in various parts, and it'll be at least a year before I'm ready. The question is, what can you do for a year? You can't remain here, and I'm not going to set you up in London without me to look after you."

"Why not? We'd look after each other," said Tommy.

"Couldn't think of it, my dear," said the Captain decisively. "It's a facer, that's the truth."

"I know what!" cried Tommy, suddenly starting up. "Take us with you!"

"What?" gasped her uncle.

"I mean it. Let's all go for a voyage. I'd love to go round the world."

"Nonsense! A parcel of girls in my windjammer with their frills and furbelows—I never heard of such a thing! Ridiculous! Entirely out of the question!"

"Why? I don't see it," persisted Tommy. "Now, Captain Barton, don't be a stick-in-the-mud, but give us reasons."

"My dear, it can't be done," said the Captain emphatically.

"Of course it can't, you haven't got any," said Tommy, wilfully misunderstanding him. "Just like a man!"

"We should really like it, Uncle," said Elizabeth.

"Can't be done, Bess," he repeated.

"But why, Uncle?" asked Mary.

"Because—because—well, for one thing I don't carry a stewardess."

"Oh, you funny old man! Bess could be stewardess. Another reason, please."

"There's no cabin fit for young ladies. It's a hard life on board, and——"

"No reason at all," interrupted Tommy. "We must learn to rough it, now that we've got to make our way in the world. Besides, sea-air is good; it will establish our constitutions, as the doctors say. Say yes, Uncle, there's a dear!"

"Well, well, I'll sleep on it," said the Captain, temporizing. He was really much perplexed and troubled. The suggestion was a preposterous one, to his old-fashioned way of thinking; but he could not find reasons that would convince these very modern nieces of his, and he hoped that they would drop the wild notion before the morning.

But when the girls had gone to bed, and he sat alone, smoking his final pipe, he had to confess to himself that Tommy's proposal was the simplest solution of the difficulty. It would not be an easy matter to find comfortable quarters