the night with me, and
I couldn't begin to tell you how good-natured she was, an' she'd look
real sorry too. I used to be ugly, I ached so, along in the first of my
being there, but I spoke of it when I was coming away, and she said it
was all right. She used to feed me, that lady did; and there were some
days I couldn't lift my head, and she would rise it on her arm. She give
me a little mite of a book, when I come away. I'm not much of a hand at
reading, but I always kept it on account of her. She was so pleased when
I got so's to set up in a chair and look out of the window. She wasn't
much of a hand to talk English. I did feel bad to come away from there;
I 'most wished I could be sick a while longer. I never said much of
anything either, and I don't know but she thought it was queer, but I am
a dreadful clumsy man to say anything, and I got flustered. I don't
know's I mind telling you; I was 'most a-crying. I used to think I'd lay
by some money and ship for there and carry her something real pretty.
But I don't rank able-bodied seaman like I used, and it's as much as I
can do to get a berth on a coaster; I suppose I might go as cook. I
liked to have died with my hurt at that hospital, but when I was getting
well it made me think of when I was a mite of a chap to home before
mother died, to be laying there in a clean bed with somebody to do for
me. Guess you think I'm a good hand to spin long yarns; somehow it comes
easy to talk to-day."

"What became of your cat?" asked Kate, after a pause, during which our
friend sliced away at the porgies.

"I never rightfully knew; it was in Salem harbor, and a windy night. I
was on deck consider'ble, for the schooner pitched lively, and once or
twice she dragged her anchor. I never saw the kitty after she eat her
supper. I remember I gave her some milk,--I used to buy her a pint once
in a while for a treat; I don't know but she might have gone off on a
cake of ice, but it did seem as if she had too much sense for that. Most
likely she missed her footing, and fell overboard in the dark. She was
marked real pretty, black and white, and kep' herself just as clean! She
knew as well as could be when foul weather was coming; she would bother
round and act queer; but when the sun was out she would sit round on
deck as pleased as a queen. There! I feel bad sometimes when I think of
her, and I never went into Salem since without hoping that I should see
her. I don't know but if I was a