ngraved on a tombstone. This caused me
to think of my parting with old Aunt Chloe, and I told him I should take
it as a great favor indeed if he would paint a pink hand and a black
hand on my chest. He said the colors were pricked into the skin with
needles, and that the operation was somewhat painful. I assured him, in
an off-hand manner, that I didn't mind pain, and begged him to set to
work at once.

The simple-hearted fellow, who was probably not a little vain of his
skill, took me into the forecastle, and was on the point of complying
with my request, when my father happened to own the gangway--a
circumstance that rather interfered with the decorative art.

I didn't have another opportunity of conferring alone with Sailor Ben,
for the next morning, bright and early, we came in sight of the cupola
of the Boston State House.

Chapter Four--Rivermouth

It was a beautiful May morning when the Typhoon hauled up at Long Wharf.
Whether the Indians were not early risers, or whether they were away
just then on a war-path, I couldn't determine; but they did not appear
in any great force--in fact, did not appear at all.

In the remarkable geography which I never hurt myself with studying
at New Orleans, was a picture representing the landing of the Pilgrim
Fathers at Plymouth. The Pilgrim Fathers, in rather odd hats and coats,
are seen approaching the savages; the savages, in no coats or hats
to speak of, are evidently undecided whether to shake hands with the
Pilgrim Fathers or to make one grand rush and scalp the entire party.
Now this scene had so stamped itself on my mind, that, in spite of
all my father had said, I was prepared for some such greeting from
the aborigines. Nevertheless, I was not sorry to have my expectations
unfulfilled. By the way, speaking of the Pilgrim Fathers, I often used
to wonder why there was no mention made of the Pilgrim Mothers.

While our trunks were being hoisted from the hold of the ship, I mounted
on the roof of the cabin, and took a critical view of Boston. As we came
up the harbor, I had noticed that the houses were huddled together on an
immense bill, at the top of which was a large building, the State House,
towering proudly above the rest, like an amiable mother-hen surrounded
by her brood of many-colored chickens. A closer inspection did not
impress me very favorably. The city was not nearly so imposing as New
Orleans, which stretches out for miles and miles, in the sha