ble Yankee then no less
than now. The darker of the two was the more attractive, for he had
the jolly twinkling eye, and gayly infectious air that goes with the
high animal temperament, and always carries a bracing tonic with it
like the sea-breeze. Wherever John Avery came, all the evil spirits of
dulness and mopes and blues, that conspire so fearfully for the misery
of mankind, had to give way, and one burst of his spontaneous merriment
would exorcise the whole uncanny troop. John was a born sailor, with
all the dashing frankness, and generous, hearty temper characteristic
of the class, and not deficient in the faculty for getting into scrapes
that is also an invariable endowment of his prototypes.

The other was a less open face, sharper in its outlines, and with
more angles than curves. Had it been less kindly, it might have been
the face of a rascal, and yet an artist could easily have idealized
it into that of a hero. For all these variations and contrasts of
characteristic expression, that have such influence among us, are,
after all, wonderfully slight affairs, and a few touches either way,
upon the vast majority of faces, would give a seraph or a demon at the
shortest notice. The bright, plump countenance of Jack was an open
book, known and read of all men, while that of his cousin Philo was a
study far more perplexing, and in the end less satisfactory. But the
conversation of the two was sufficiently plain.

"Sails on Thursday, does she, Phil?" said the cheerful voice of John
as his practised eye sought out a certain ship from among the crowd of
vessels in the harbor.

"All hands aboard at nine o'clock's the order," replied Philo, taking
off his cap, and turning his face to the wind.

"And the Sally Ann don't sail till Saturday. I say Phil, old fellow, I
wish we were going together," cried John with one of his bursts.

"It's better as 'tis," said Philo, thoughtfully. "There's a better
chance for one of us to come back, you know, than if we were in the
same ship."

"'_Come back._' Why, of course we shall