how fondly cherished here by your side
the little sister? Ah! the smiling picture, making glad the heart! This
sister, Zenobia, let us say, grows up, after what happy childhood with
such a brother needs for me not to say. They are three, these
children,--how must they love each other! But one brother goes early
away from the home! In time comes for Zenobia, as to young maidens will
come, a suitor, a foreigner, shall we say? a man, like myself, of the
sea? May it not have been possible, dear sir?"

"A roving nobody!" the old man muttered, striving to pull himself
together. "A rascally"--but here he stopped abruptly, for a stern hand
was laid on his arm.

"I am speaking at this present, sir!" said the Skipper. "Of this man I
do not ask you the character. I tell my story, if you please, in my own
way.

"The mother, by this time, is dead. The father, unwilling to part with
his daughter,--alas! the parental heart, how must it be torn? As yours,
the tender one, last night, on missing this beloved child, Sir Scraper.
The father, I say, opposes the marriage; at length only, and after many
tears, much sorrow, some anger, consents; the daughter, sister, Zenobia,
goes with her husband away, promising quickly to return, to take her old
father to her home in the southern islands. Ah, the interesting tale, is
it not? Observe, Colorado, my son, how I am able to move this, your dear
guardian. The pleasant thing, to move the mind of age, so often
indifferent.

"Zenobia goes away, and the son, the good son, the one faithful and
devoted, who will not marry, so great his love for his parent, is left
with that parent alone. How happy can we fancy that parent, is it not?
How gay for him the days, how sweet for him the nights, lighted with
love, and smoothed his pillow by loving hands,--ah, the pleasant
picture! But how, my friend, you feel yourself not well? Colorado, a
glass of water for your guardian."

The old man motioned the child back, his little eyes gleaming with rage
and fear.

"You--you come a-nigh me, you brat, and I'll wring your neck!" he
gasped. "Well, Mister, have you finished your--your story, as you call
it? Why do I want to listen to your pack of lies, I should like to know?
I wonder I've had patience to let you go on so long."

"Why do you want to listen?" the Skipper repeated. "My faith, do I know?
But the appearance of interest in your face so venerable, it touch me to
the heart. Shall I go and tell the rest of