in Branscombe. And then I got the missionary ladies
to take her up, and as I never stinted a bit of money for her dresses
and what not (as though Clyde's daughter wasn't worthy of the best in
the land), she made good headway in what little gayeties took place in
the town. Of course, I went about to keep an eye on her--that is, when
they asked me to their parties, which wasn't always; and I remember once
making very short work of one fellow, a labor captain from the Westward,
who seemed bent on mischief till I took him out in the starlight and
showed him the business end of my gun. To tell the truth, I never had a
peaceful moment till he up anchor and cleared, for he was a good deal
the kind of man I was at thirty, and he hung on in spite of me, keeping
half the family in his pay while I kept the other, and he even landed
the last night with muffled oars, when, instead of finding Rosalie on
the beach to fly with him, he ran into _me_, laying for him under an
umbrella!

There were many who said I was in love with the girl myself, which, as
like as not, was true; for she was one of those tall, queenly women,
with a wonderful grace to anything she did, and magnificent dark eyes,
and a way of smiling,--brilliant, arch, and tender--that made even an
old stager of sixty remember he still wore a heart under his jumper.
Yes, I had a pretty soft spot for Rosalie, though I had sense enough to
know that God had never meant her for an old sea horse like myself. And
lacking me--whom the weight of three-score years had put out of the ring
(not but what I'm a pretty game old devil yet)--I could see nobody in
sight I preferred half so much as Silver Tongue.

So there was the situation till the war of Ninety-three came along to
jumble us all up and knock everything to spillikins. Oppenstedt in love
with Rosalie; Rosalie in love with Oppenstedt; Bahn and old Taylor
working on the second story of the Southern Cross Bakery; Miss Potter
doing double tides at the trousseau, and I, the friend of both, with a
six-hundred-dollar piano on the way from Bremen for their wedding
present. A fair wind, port in sight, and (say you) everything drawing
nicely alow and aloft. So it was till that wretched fight at Vaitele,
when the Vaimaunga came pouring in at dusk, bearing wounded, chorusing
their songs, and tossing in the air above them the heads of their dead
enemies. It made me feel bad to see it all, for to me these people were
children, and it seeme