cheerfully passed from mouth to mouth.  That pleasant idea of “home,” in which is concentrated all that is blessed in this life, the pale of the Christian duties and charities excepted, brings to each mind its particular forms of happiness and good.  The weather-beaten seaman, the foot-worn soldier, the weary traveller, the adventurer in whatever lands interest or pleasure may lead, equally feels a throb at his heart as he hears the welcome sounds of “hey for home.”  Never were craft prepared for sea with greater rapidity than was the case now with our two Sea Lions.  It is true that the Oyster-Ponders were nearly ready, and had been quite so, for a fortnight; but a good deal remained to be done among the Vineyarders.  The last set themselves to their task with a hearty good-will, however, and with corresponding results.

“We will leave the house standing for them that come after us,” said Roswell, when the last article belonging to his schooner was taken out of it.  “The deacon has crammed us so full of wood that I shall be tempted to throw half of it overboard, now we have so much cargo.  Let all stand, Hazard, bunks, planks and all; for really we have no room for the materials.  Even this wood,” pointing to a pile of several cords that had been landed already to make room for skins and casks that had been brought out in shocks, “must go to the next comer.  Perhaps it may be one of ourselves; for we sailors never know what port will next fetch us up.”

“I hope it will be old Sag, sir,” answered Hazard, cheerfully; “for, though no great matter of a seaport, it is near every man’s home, and may be called a sort of door-way to go in and out of the country through.”

“A side-door, at the best,” answered Roswell.  “With you, I trust it will be the next haven that we enter; though I shall take the schooner at once in behind Shelter Island, and tie her up to the deacon’s wharf.”

What images of the past and future did these few jocular words awaken in the mind of our young sealer!  He fancied that he saw Mary standing in the porch of her uncle’s habitation, a witness of the approach of the schooner, looking wistfully at the still indistinct images of those who were to be seen on her decks.  Mary had often done this in her dreams; again and again had she beheld the white sails of the Sea Lion driving across Gardiner’s Bay, and entering Peconic; and often had she thus gazed in the weather-worn countenance of him who occupied so much of her thoughts—­so many of her prayers—­picturing through the mysterious images of sleep the object she so well loved when waking.