he cabin,
returned hastily, and quitted the lighter. In about a quarter of an
hour I was sent for, and conducted to the house of the proprietor--the
first time in my life that I had ever put my foot on _terra firma_. I
was led into the parlour, where I found the proprietor at breakfast with
his wife and his daughter, a little girl nine years old. By this time I
had recovered myself, and on being interrogated, told my story clearly
and succinctly, while the big tears coursed each other down my dirty
face.

"How strange and how horrible!" said the lady to her husband; "I cannot
understand it even now."

"Nor can I; but still it is true, from what Johnson the clerk has
witnessed."

In the meantime my eyes were directed to every part of the room, which
appeared to my ignorance as a Golcondo of wealth and luxury. There were
few things which I had seen before, but I had an innate idea that they
were of value. The silver tea-pot, the hissing urn, the spoons, the
pictures in their frames, every article of furniture caught my wondering
eye, and for a short time I had forgotten my father and my mother; but I
was recalled from my musing speculations by the proprietor inquiring how
far I had brought the lighter without assistance.

"Have you any friends, my poor boy?" inquired the lady.

"No."

"What! no relations onshore?"

"I never was on shore before in my life."

"Do you know that you are a destitute orphan?"

"What's that?"

"That you have no father or mother," said the little girl.

"Well," replied I, in my father's words, having no answer more
appropriate, "it's no use crying; what's done can't be helped."

"But what do you intend to do now?" inquired the proprietor, looking
hard at me after my previous answer.

"Don't know, I'm sure. Take, it coolly," replied I, whimpering.

"What a very odd child!" observed the lady. "Is he aware of the extent
of his misfortune?"

"Better luck next time, missus," repled I, wiping my eyes with the back
of my hand.

"What strange answers from a child who has shown so much feeling,"
observed the proprietor to his wife. "What is your name."

"Jacob Faithful."

"Can you write or read?"

"No," replied I, again using my father's words: "No, I can't--I wish I
could."

"Very well, my poor boy, we'll see what's to be done," said the
proprietor.

"I know what's to be done," rejoined I; "you must send a couple of hands
to get the anchor and cable, afore they cut t