t the foot of the stairs opened, and John heard his
name called; he hastened down, and found Mr. Scraper sitting up in bed,
looking pale and savage, but in full possession of his faculties. The
doctor was there, a burly, kind-eyed man, and Mr. Bill Hen was there,
and the Skipper; and when little John entered, they all looked at him,
and no one said anything for a moment.

At length the doctor broke the silence.

"I understand, sir," he said, addressing the Skipper, "that you have a
paper, a will or the like, substantiating your claims?"

"I have!" the Skipper replied. "The letter received by my mother,
shortly before her death, was dictated by my grandfather, and told that,
hearing for many years nothing from his son, this child's grandfather,
he had made a will in her favour. This, being timorous, he had not dared
to show to anyone, neither to send her a copy, but he bade her send a
messenger to make search in a certain cupboard of this house, on a
certain shelf, where would be found this paper. My mother dying,
commended to me this search. I at that time was a youth on adventures
bent, with already plans for eastern voyages. Keeping always the letter
in my pouch, and in my heart the desire of my mother, I came,
nevertheless, not to this part of the world; years come and go, Senor,
swiftly with men of the sea, and these shores seemed to me less of
attraction than Borneo and other places where were easily to be found my
wares. Briefly, I came not; till this year, a commission from a
collector of some extent brought the 'Nautilus' to New York. And then,
say I, how then if I go on, see this my inheritance, discover if it may
profit me somewhat? I come, I discover my revered uncle, unknown to him.
Is the discovery such that I desire to fall on his respected bosom,
crying, 'My uncle, soul of my family, behold your son!' I ask you,
Senors both! But I find this, my revered uncle, to be a collector of
shells: thus he is in one way already dear to my heart. Again, I find
here at the moment of my arrival a child, who is in effect of my own
blood, who is to me a son from the moment of our first speech. Is it so,
Colorado? Speak, my child!"

John could not speak, but he nodded like a little mandarin, and the red
curls fell into his eyes and hid the tears, so that no one but the
Skipper saw them.

"How then?" the Skipper resumed, after a moment's pause. "My soul not
calling me to reveal myself to this so-dear relative, what do