"Without any supper? That will never do. Help yourselves in there. The biscuit-barrel's in the corner, and the codfish hangs right over it. Eat a good meal, and you'll feel better. There ain't nothin' equal to dry codfish for turning sea-sickness."
"Thanks; but we don't feel hungry," said Ben.
"That's queer. It beats me how anybody can be out to sea and not feel hungry! Well, a night's rest will make you better, like as not. You'll sleep like a couple of tops; that is, if you've got good clean consciences afore God."
The boys made no reply.
"I hope you have. It's bad work being out to sea, or anywhere else, for that matter, with anything lying heavy on your conscience. Now, I don't pretend to be any guide for any one. I'm bad enough myself; but I always says every night, 'Just look me over, Lord, and if there is any bad in me'--and of course I know there is plenty of it--'forgive it, and help me to start better to-morrow.' It's mighty comfortin' for me to know that He sees that I mean fairer than I do."
After these remarks the captain finished dressing the fish he held on the board, and the boys disappeared down the short flight of steps leading into the cabin.
It was a close place there, and filled with odours of fish; in fact the whole vessel seemed to be stuccoed with fish-scales.
"Are we first or second cabin passengers, Ralph?" asked Ben laughingly, "or are we steerage?"
"Steerage, sure enough!"
"Well, it isn't the worst place that ever was. I'd rather be here than outside there in the sea, with a shark after me," continued Ben, who was far more inclined than Ralph to be jolly under difficulties.