where the child's mother came from--and I asked him and his wife to take
care of the little thing, for a sorrowful man that was going off on the
sea, and would pay well for what they did. I knew it wasn't the money
that would make them lay their hand to the work; but they had nothing to
spare, and I didn't mean to leave her to charity. I wanted her brought
up to be like her mother, in ways that wouldn't end where I'm going.
They took her, and there she is. Nobody can see her without loving her,
such a little, dainty, winning, clinging, pretty thing, nine years have
made out of the toddlin' creature I put out of my arms, that ached after
her till I was clear out of sight of land. Don't think I miss seeing her
when I'm ashore. Don't I leave Derry Duck aboard ship, and put on my
landsman's clothes, and ride up to the door where she is, with my pocket
full of money. She don't lack for any thing, I warrant you. She's
dressed like a rose, all in pink and green, with little ribbons
fluttering like her little heart when she sees me coming. She's learning
too. Why, she knows most enough to teach the queen, the child does. And
then she's so modest and asks me questions, as if I could tell her every
thing. I always have a cold or a headache or something, and can't say
much when I'm there. I keep still, and take my fill of looking at her,
and hugging her close to this old tough heart. I wouldn't let out an
oath before her. I'd rather see the Molly go to the bottom in fair
weather. I'm scant of my talk, lest I should let out that my way of
thinking is different from hers. I wouldn't have her pretty blue eyes
turn away from me, so sorrowful, yet so loving, just as her mother's
used to. I couldn't bear that. She loves me, that little pure thing,
that says its prayers night and morning, and asks God to bless its
father on the sea. She's my angel. Mayhap those little prayers will get
heard some day, and a blessing will come to me and make me a different
man. Only the Almighty could turn Derry Duck into a father fit for that
child's eyes to look on. My heart yearns after her when I'm far away,
but I don't let her write to me. I wouldn't have such men as I live with
know where my flower hides its little head. I wouldn't have her run a
chance of seeing any body who knows Derry Duck, and might tell her of
his wild ways. It would break her little heart, it would. I can't write
to her; not but what I was scholard somewhat, long ago; but these h