huzzaed, caught hold of Jowler, who had sprung up, and was barking away in answer to Ned's huzza, and down they went on the green sward together.

'Don't go crazy, Ned, we may be disappointed after all; mother may not give her consent, Sam may be unwilling to go, or not able to get a boat.'

'Do stop, Jim, bringing up difficulties; I don't want to hear them now. I know mother will let us go, and I know Sam will like dearly to join us; he can get a boat, I am sure he can.'

'Well, Ned, the first thing we must do is, to get mother's consent.'

'Yes, and you will speak to her this very night, won't you, Jim? I will put in a word once in a while, just to help along.'

Twilight was past; the stars were shining through a clear bright sky, when these two brothers retraced their steps towards home. It is pleasant to see them so cheerfully complying with that command, 'Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.'

And now I suppose my readers may be anxious to know some particulars about our boys, and the place where they lived.

Their father, Mr. James Montjoy, who had died a few months before the period at which our story commences, was rather a plain man in his appearance and manners, and lived on a small pension just enough to sustain his family, so that he left nothing for their support but the house and garden. I think he must have been a good man, for his boys revered his name, and often repeated his sayings to each other; and on no account would they deviate from what they believed would have been his will.

As to the place where they lived, I have already partly described it; it was a very retired spot, a few farm-houses were scattered about at irregular intervals, but all wearing the same general aspect. A want of enterprise was manifest on every side; poor roads, poor fences, broken barns, patched windows in almost every house, miserable-looking waggons and horses, and people in appearance as uncouth and woe-begone as their teams.

There was but one store in the place, and how that was supplied was somewhat mysterious; for no boats sailed from or to this lone spot. I have heard, that once in a year a large lumber waggon, that came from a distance, brought a load of casks and boxes, which contained all the goods necessary to supply the few wants of its customers, a little tea, and sugar, and molasses, and a few coarse dry goods, with an undue proportion of whiskey. The storekeeper looked no better than his customers; he was a dried-up, wrinkled little man, with a very red nose; always clad in a suit of grey clothes, with a broad-brimmed greasy hat, turned up in front, and a pair of iron spectacles, through which stared two very large eyes, somewhat the worse for the use of cider and whiskey.

The store itself was a long, low, tumble-down-looking place, with a shed running along its front, under which might almost always be seen a certain number of miserably dressed persons, the customers of the store.

It will be of no use to any of my readers to be told the real name of this place, nor its exact locality. I have mentioned that it was on a river, and not far from where that river emptied itself into a sound, or arm of the sea; but as there are a great many rivers and sounds in our beautiful country, I must leave you all to guess the right one. And perhaps many of you will pass this place, or have already passed it many times, and when you have seen, or shall see, the beautiful church spire that now rises from the midst of the trees which embower it, and the neat white houses along the shore, and the trim vessels that line the wharves, and hear the lively—'Yo, heave yo!' of the sailors, as they hoist the white sail to the breeze, you will little dream that it was once as I have described it.

And now we must see how Jim gets along in gaining the consent of his mother.

Mrs. Montjoy was a good mother, and loved her three children most tenderly; but as all mothers who truly love their children must sometimes deny their wishes, Jim and Ned had learned some lessons, which made them feel less and less confident the more they thought of the matter. At length the former, taking up the candle, whispered to his brother.—

'Perhaps, Ned, we had better not say anything about it until to-morrow.'

'I think so too, Jim.'

So, kissing their mother and little Ellen, up they went to their garret room, talking and laughing in great spirits.

'The poor dear children,' thought Mrs. Montjoy, 'it makes my heart ache to hear them; they think not of the future. May God, in his mercy, open some way, for I see but a poor prospect before them. And it may be that prayer was heard, and the God of the widow and the fatherless was preparing the means by which these unprotected children would prove the light of their native place, and her stay and comfort. Had she seen them as they knelt down by the bedside together, she would have felt that her children were not fatherless.

The next morning the boys had a long conference with their mother; and after she had listened to their plans, and stated to them, more particularly than she had ever before done, the straitened circumstances to which they were reduced, and expressed many fears on account of their exposure on the water, she finally agreed that they might try what they could do.

No sooner had they reached the door, after thus accomplishing their wishes, than Ned started on the full run, jumped over the first thing that stood in his way—which happened to be old Jowler—caught up his hoe from under the shed, and entering the garden by a cross cut, began tearing the dirt around the potato hills with all his might.

Jim walked very leisurely to his work, and for some time permitted his brother to go on, thinking that he would soon become tired, and relax his efforts; but seeing that Ned was coming back on his row,—

'You had better keep your own row, Ned; I shall get along soon enough with mine, and you will only tire yourself by working so fast.'

'Well, I am in such a hurry, Jim; I want to get these potato hills finished, so that we can go and talk with Sam Oakum about the boat.'

'I am as much in a hurry as you are, Ned; but we have quite a patch to hill yet, and we shall get through sooner, by working steadily, besides doing our work better; we can get along with them by the middle of the afternoon, and that will give us time enough to see Sam.'

And as Jim had said, by the middle of the afternoon the last hill of potatoes was finished; and, having made all their arrangements, and agreed upon all they would say to Sam, they had nothing to do but go to the tree where they placed their tools, and hang up their hoes for that day.

As Sam Oakum will be a prominent character in our story, I must introduce him more particularly to my reader. His father lived in one of the huts which I have said were scattered along the shore of the river for some distance, and followed the occupation which his father had followed before him, that of a fisherman; or, in other words, that of catching a few fish or clams, sufficient to satisfy the cravings of hunger for the day, and spending the rest of it in idleness and drinking, without enterprise or ambition. As their fathers had done for generations back, so did they; they seemed to feel that it was their luck to be poor, and, to all appearance, felt willing that their children should follow in their steps.

Sam Oakum's father was rather a superior man to his neighbors; he had some knowledge, too, of boat-building; he had never learned the trade, but, being ingenious, could put together a small craft quite decently, and the few poor boats which the fisherman owned were the work of his hands; but he also exceeded many of his neighbors in the use of strong drink, and too frequently it was feared that his wife and children suffered for the necessaries of life, because the father was away, and in no condition to get home. For a few years past,