So high did the fever run, by this time, that it was determined to build a couple of vessels, each to measure about a hundred and eighty tons, with the sole object of using them to take the whale.  Six months after laying their keels, these little brigs were launched; and lucky it was that the governor had ordered copper for a ship to be brought out, since it now came handy for using on these two craft.  But, the whaling business had not been suffered to lag while the Jonas and the Dragon were on the stocks; the Anne, and the Martha, and the single boats, being out near half the time.  Five hundred barrels were taken in this way; and Betts, in particular, had made so much money, or, what was the same thing, had got so much oil, that he came one morning to his friend the governor, when the following interesting dialogue took place between them, in the audience-chamber of the Colony House.  It may as well be said here, that the accommodations for the chief magistrate had been materially enlarged, and that he now dwelt in a suite of apartments that would have been deemed respectable even in Philadelphia.  Bridget had a taste for furniture, and the wood of Rancocus Island admitted of many articles being made that were really beautiful, and which might have adorned a palace.  Fine mats had been brought from China, such as are, and long have been, in common use in America; neat and quaint chairs and settees had also been in the governor’s invoices, to say nothing of large quantities of fine and massive earthenware.  In a word, the governor was getting to be rich, and like all wealthy men, he had a disposition to possess, in a proportionate degree, the comforts and elegancies of civilized life.  But to come to our dialogue—­

“Walk in, Captain Betts—­walk in, sir, and do me the favour to take a chair,” said the governor, motioning to his old friend to be seated.  “You are always welcome, here; for I do not forget old times, I can assure you, my friend.”

“Thankee, governor; thankee, with all my heart.  I do find everything changed, now-a-days, if the truth must be said, but yourself.  To me, you be always, Mr. Mark, and Mr. Woolston, and we seem to sail along in company, much as we did the time you first went out a foremast-lad, and I teached you the difference between a flat-knot and a granny.”

“No, no, Bob, everything is not so much changed as you pretend—­I am not changed, in the first place.”

“I confess it—­you be the same, governor, blow high, or blow low.”

“Then Martha is not changed, or nothing worth mentioning.  A little more matronly, perhaps, and not quite as much of a girl as when you first made her acquaintance; but Martha, nevertheless.  And, as for her heart, I’ll answer for it, that is just the colour it was at sixteen.”

“Why, yes, governor; ’tis much as you say.  Marthy is now the mother of four children, and that confarms a woman’s appearance, depend on’t.  But, Marthy is Marthy; and, for that matter, Miss Bridget is Miss Bridget, as much as one pea is like another.  Madam Woolston does full credit to the climate, governor, and looks more like eighteen than ever.”