THE ALBATROSS. 227 



It was my wife. She had been down below, 

 preparing our " long togs " to go ashore, and now 

 she had come on deck just in time to overhear my 

 remarks to Russell. 



" Hannah, my dear," said I, " Mr. Russell is by 

 no means discharged. I beg you, don't worry ! 

 Mr. Russell is the best mate I ever had in all my 

 sea-faring days, only he's capable of improve- 

 ment yet. And as for the albatross — his poor, 

 1 murdered' albatross — 'seems to me you've got 

 those wings somewhere, haven't you ? Well, 

 we'll make some kind of a feather ornament of 

 them, and hang it up in the cabin, my dear, for a 

 mascot. For if there's any meaning at all in a 

 ' murdered ' albatross (which same I gravely 

 doubt) it means that when you've been wrecked 

 in a hurricane out on the Mozambique channel, 

 you get into Port Louis with all hands alive and 

 unhurt! Eh, Russell?" 



