gravely. "The nature of humans is without
doubt the same in many lands," he said. "The little boy whom I hear
called John,--he is of near blood to this old gentleman, yes?"

But here Mr. Bill Hen grew redder in the face, which was a difficult
feat, and smote the cabin table.

"Burning shame it is about that youngster!" he declared. "Burning shame,
if ever there was one in this mortal world. How some folks can set by
and see things going on _as_ they're going on, beats me, and le' me say
I'm hard to beat. That child, sir, is an orphan; got no father nor
mother, let alone grandf'ther or grandm'ther, in the land of the living.
His father was some kind of a natural, I guess, or else he hadn't known
Deacon Scraper by sight or hearing; but when he dies what does he do but
leave that old--old--beetle-bug guardeen of that child, case of his
mother dyin'. Well, if I'd ha' had children, I might leave 'em to a fox
for guardeen, or I might leave 'em to a horned pout, whichever I was a
mind to, but I wouldn't leave 'em to Dym Scraper, and you can chalk that
up on the door any ways you like." The good man paused, and puffed and
snorted for some minutes in silence. The Skipper waited, his dark face
quietly attentive, his eyes very bright.

"Near blood?" Mr. Bill Hen broke out again, with another blow on the
table. "No, he aint so dretful near blood, if you come to that. Near as
the child's got, though, seemin'ly. His father, Johnny's father, was son
to Freeborn Scraper, the Deacon's twin brother. Twins they was, though
no more alike than pork and peas. Them two, and Zenoby, the sister, who
married off with a furriner and was never heerd of again; but she ain't
in the story, though some say she was her father's favourite, and that
Dym gave her no peace, after Freeborn left, till he got rid of her. All
about it, Freeborn went West young, and spent his days there; lived
comfortable, and left means when he died. Dym Scraper, he went out to
the funeral, and run it, we heerd, Freeborn's wife being dead and his
son weakly; anyway, he brung back them two silver coffin-plates that
hangs in the parlour to his house. Next thing we knew--good while after,
y' understand, but first thing _we_ knew, here to the village--the son
was dead, too; Mahlon his name was, and had been weakly all his days.
Deacon Scraper went out agin, and kinder scraped round, folks reckoned,
'peared to make of the young widder, and meeched up to her, and all.
Wal! And he