been out of it. Below them, in one of the comparatively shallow, flat-bottomed reaches, a company of smaller boys were paddling about, some taking their first lessons in swimming, some struggling to duck each other, and some carefully keeping aloof for fear of being ducked. Trees, rocks, broken sunlight, and a summer breeze made the little scene quite Arcadian.

"My uncle is going to California to dig gold," said one of the larger boys, who answered to the name of Tom Kennedy.

"My father says they have discovered gold mines in Australia that are richer than those in California," said another, Felix Ostrom by name.

"But that is twice as far away," said the first speaker, "and you can only get there by a long sea voyage. You can go overland to California, and be in our own country all the time. Isn't that a great deal better, even if you don't get quite so much gold?"

"It wouldn't be better for me," answered George Dewey. "I would rather go by sea, and would rather go to other countries. I want to see as many of them as I can. I would especially like to sail in the Pacific Ocean."

"Why the Pacific?" said Tom.

"Because," said George, "that is not only the largest ocean in the world, but it has the most islands and touches the countries that we know the least about."

"It's an ugly thing to get to it, round Cape Horn," said Felix.

"You can go through the Strait of Magellan," said George. "Last week I found a book of voyages in my Aunt Lavinia's house, and I've been reading all about Magellan. He was the discoverer of the Pacific Ocean, and he sailed through that strait to find it."

"He must have been a very modest man," said Tom.

"Why?"

"Because he didn't name it Magellan Ocean."

"He called it the Pacific because he found it so calm," said George. "And he sailed clear across it. Just think of coming to an unknown sea five or six thousand miles wide, and sailing right out into it, and on and on, past islands and reefs, and sometimes long stretches with nothing in sight but sky and water, and no way to tell when you'll come to the end of it! And when you stop at an island you don't know what you'll find, or whether you'll find anything—even good drinking-water. And he didn't know whether the earth was really round, for no one had ever sailed round it before. I think that beats Columbus."

"Was he really the first one to sail round the world?" said Felix.

"Not exactly," said George. "His ship was the first that ever went round, but he didn't get round with her."

"Why not?"

"Because when they got to the Philippine Islands, which they discovered, they went ashore on one of them and had a fight with the natives, and Magellan was killed."

"I guess the Philippine Islands are pretty good ones to keep away from," said Sammy Atkinson.

"I should be willing to take my chances, if I could get there," said George. "But I suppose I never shall."

"You can't tell," said Sandy Miller, a boy who had recently come from Scotland with his parents, "what savage countries you may visit afore you die. Two years ago I didn't dream I'd ever come to America."

"Do you call ours a savage country?" said Felix, with a twinkle in his eye.

"I didn't exactly mean to," said Sandy, "and yet I think I might, when I remember how all you boys wanted to fight me the first week I was here, only because I was a stranger."

"Not quite all," said George.

"No, I take that back," said Sandy. "You say truly not quite all, for you yourself didn't, and I mustn't forget it of you. I suppose it's human nature to want to fight all strangers, and maybe that's the reason the Philippine men killed Master Magellan. I suppose they'd try to do the same if anybody went there now. But I wish you'd tell us more about him and about the Pacific and the Philippines, for I am aye fond of the sea; I enjoyed every wave on the Atlantic when we came over."

Thereupon George, being urged by the other boys as well, gave an account, as nearly as he could remember, of what he had read.

"What has become of those islands?" said Bill Ammon.

"They are there yet," said George.

"Did you think they were sunk in the sea?" said Tom Kennedy.

"It might not be very ridiculous if he did," said George, "for they have terrific earthquakes, and a good many of them."

"Of course I meant," Bill explained, "who owns them?"

"Spain says she does," said George, "and she has had them a long time, for she took possession of them about fifty years after they were discovered; but she came pretty near losing them forever about a century ago."

"How was that?" Bill inquired.

"A British force attacked them," said George, "and stormed Manila, the capital, and the city had its choice to pay five million dollars or be given up to the soldiers for plunder. It paid the money."

"Do you think that was right?" Felix Ostrom asked.

"I don't know enough about it to say," George answered; "but I suppose war is war, and when it has to be made at all it ought to be made so as to accomplish something."

"What was the name of Magellan's ship?" asked Tom Kennedy.

"He started with five ships," said George, "but four of them were lost. The largest was only eighty feet long. The one that went round the world and got home was the Victoria."

"Huh!" said Tom, "I might have known it—just like those Britishers, naming everything after their queen."

"Magellan was not a Britisher, he was Portuguese," said George. "And Queen Victoria was not born till about three hundred years after his famous voyage."

The boys burst into a roar of laughter and hooted at Tom.

"It's all very well for you to laugh," said Tom when the merriment had subsided a little, "but I'd like to know how many of you would have known that I made a blunder if George Dewey hadn't explained it to you—probably not one. I can't see that anybody but George has a right to laugh at me, and I noticed that he laughed least of all."

The boys appeared to feel the sting of Tom's argument, but at the same time they felt that any opportunity to laugh at him should be improved, because he was critical and sarcastic above all the rest. They wanted to resent his remark, but did not know of any way to do it effectively, and were all getting into ill humor when Felix Ostrom thought of a way to turn the subject and restore good feeling.

"Look here, boys," said he, "as we are talking about the sea, and some of us intend to be sailors when we are old enough, I'd like to propose that Sandy Miller sing us a sea song. He knows a ripping good one, and I know he can sing it, for I heard him once at his house."

There was an immediate demand for the song, which was so loud and emphatic and unanimous that Sandy could not refuse.

"It's one that my great aunt, Miss Corbett, wrote," said he. "I can't remember it all, but I'll sing you a bit of it as well as I can. Ye'll just remember that I'm no Jenny Lind nor the choir of the Presbyterian church." Then he sang: