e tide come swilling
in-water-daisies you used to call the breaking surf, Cousin Fanny. And
that was like you, always with a fancy about everything you saw.
And when the ships, the fishing-smacks with their red sails, and the
tall-masted brigs went by, taking the white foam on their canvas, you
used to wish that you might sail away to the lands you'd heard tell
of from old skippers that gathered round my uncle's fire in the
Book-in-Hand. Ay, a grand thing I thought it would be, too, to go riding
round the world on a well-washed deck, with plenty of food and grog, and
maybe, by-and-by, to be first mate, and lord it from fo'castle bunk to
stern-rail.

"You did not know, did you, who was the coast-guardsman that stumbled as
he came on us that night? It looked a stupid thing to do that, and let
the lantern fall. But, lass, 'twas done o' purpose. That was the one man
in all the parish that would ha' risked his neck to let me free. 'Twas
Lancy Doane, who's give me as many beatings in his time as I him. We
were always getting foul one o' t'other since I was big enough to shy a
bit of turf at him across a dyke, and there isn't a spot on's body that
I haven't hit, nor one on mine that he hasn't mauled. I've sat on his
head, and he's had his knee in my stomach till I squealed, and we never
could meet without back-talking and rasping 'gainst the grain. The night
before he joined the coast-guardsmen, he was down at the Book-in-Hand,
and 'twas little like that I'd let the good chance pass--I might never
have another; for Gover'ment folk will not easy work a quarrel on their
own account. I mind him sittin' there on the settle, his shins against
the fire, a long pipe going, and Casey of the Lazy Beetle, and Jobbin
the mate of the Dodger, and Little Faddo, who had the fat Dutch wife
down by the Ship Inn, and Whiggle the preaching blacksmith. And you were
standin' with your back to the shinin' pewters, and the great jug of ale
with the white napkin behind you; the light o' the fire wavin' on your
face, and your look lost in the deep hollow o' the chimney. I think of
you most as you were that minute, Cousin Fanny, when I come in. I tell
you straight and fair, that was the prettiest picture I ever saw; and
I've seen some rare fine things in my travels. 'Twas as if the thing had
been set by some one, just to show you off to your best. Here you were,
a slip of a lass, straight as a bulrush, and your head hangin' proud on
your shoulders; yet