"WE shall have stormy weather, I am thinking, before long." The speaker was an old sailor, and as he spoke, he raised his spy-glass again to take another look at the distant horizon. "It's coming, lads," he said, addressing two stout grown boys, who had just come up with a donkey-cart to gather the sea-weed that lay in heaps on the sandy shore. The elder of the two looked out upon the sea as the old man spoke. "There's a ship in the offing over there, ain't there?" he said, pointing to a dim speck in the distance.…
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