e's where it is, you see. And
me being a justice of the peace, and sworn, you observe, to--well, I'm
sure you will see for yourself the position I'm placed in. Point is, you
seemed consid'able interested in the child, as one may say. Nothing
strange in that,--nice little boy! would interest an Injin chief, if he
had any human feelin' in him. But _bein'_ a justice of the peace, you
see,--well, Mr. Scraper has sent me to make inquiries, and no offence in
the world, I trust--no _insult_, you understand, if I jest--well, all
about it--do you know where in thunder the child is?"

Mr. Bill Hen, standing on the bank, delivered himself of these remarks
with infinite confusion, perspiring freely, and wiping his face with a
duster, which he had brought by mistake instead of a handkerchief. He
looked piteously at the Skipper, who stood leaning over the side,
cheerfully inscrutable, clad in spotless white, and smoking a long
cigar.

"The child?" the Skipper repeated, thoughtfully. "You allude to the boy
called John, Senor Pike; yes, I had that suppose. Now, sir, the day
before this, you tell me that this child is not well placed by that old
gentleman Scraper; that the old man is cruel, is base, is a
skin-the-flint, shortly. You tell me this, and I make reply to you that
there are powers more high than this old person, who have of that child
charge. How, if those powers had delivered to me the child? how then, I
ask you, Senor Pike?"

Mr. Bill Hen wiped his brow again and gasped feebly. "'Tis as I
thought!" he said. "You've got the child aboard."

The Skipper nodded, and blew rings from his cigar. "I have the child,"
he repeated, "aboard. What will you in this case do, Senor? I propose to
take him with me away, to make of him a sailor, to care for him as my
son. You think well of this; you have been kind to the child always, as
he tell me? You are glad to have him remove from the slavery of this old
fish, yes?" He smiled, and bent his dark eyes on his unhappy visitor.

Mr. Bill Hen writhed upon the hook. "There--there's truth in what you
say," he admitted, at length, after seeking counsel in vain from his red
bandanna. "There's truth in what you say, I aint denyin' that. But what
I look at, you see, is my duty. You may have your idees of duty, and I
may have mine; and I'm a justice of the peace, and I don't see anything
for it but to ask you to give up that child to his lawful guardeen, as
has sent me for him."

A pause ensue