It is not usually difficult for a strong, active lad, with merry black eyes and cheery manners, to obtain employment. At least Jeffrey Benson did not find it so. A few miles from his native town there was a seaport. Thither he repaired, and looked about him. In the harbour lay a small vessel which looked like a yacht, it was so trim and clean. On the quay near to it stood a seafaring man with an amiable expression of countenance.
“Is that your schooner?” asked Jeff of this man.
“Yes, it is.”
“D’you want a hand?”
“No, I don’t.”
Jeff turned on his heel, and was walking away, when the seafaring man recalled him.
“Have ’ee ever bin to sea, lad?” he asked.
“No, never.”
“D’ye know anything about ships?”
“Next to nothing.”