re a
few books in some wall-shelves, a violin case in one corner--which
instrument the captain loved to practise on, though he was no
proficient--and one or two pretty India cabinets of lacquered work,
containing odd specimens, and fine curios from many countries.

His sleeping apartment, off at one side, which filled in the irregular
triangle left from the rounded end, was a mere closet with a narrow
bunk, "hard as iron," as Faith often disconsolately remarked, and a
folding bath. The captain asked no personal luxuries, yet no father
ever lived who was more lavish in bestowing every refinement of dainty
living upon his daughters.

The girls liked to speak of his cabin as the "library," and mostly did
so, much to its owner's amusement, who seldom read any book except the
log, or the daily writings of the weather on sea and sky.

"There!" he said, as he succeeded in loosening the cage door. "Now
come out, Mr. Puss, and make friends. What are you going to name him,
Faith?"

"What would you, father? It ought to be a Persian name, oughtn't it?"

"That might do--if you don't get too much of a jaw-breaker, child.
Remember, I'm not learned."

"The idea! When you can rattle off those Indian names that I cannot
understand at all, Just as if they were everyday Hatties and Kitties
and Pollys."

He smiled.

"Oh, of course. I'm used to them. But Persian's another thing, I
suppose. Come, kitty, don't be afraid--whew!" for, in spite of
coaxing, the frightened creature made a dash past him, as he would have
stroked its silky coat, and disappeared under the white valance of the
nearest bed.

Instantly Faith was on her knees, diving after, but nearly fell over
with laughter when Mr. Parrot called out promptly, in a shocked voice,
"Oh, for shame!"

Amid the laughter the captain remarked quickly, "I have it! Who was
that Persian poet you were reading about the other night, in Portsea,
Faith? Why not name him that? Don't you remember, he was said to be
rather a shy, retiring man. Now, kitty, here, seems to have the same
disposition."

Faith was now scrambling out, warm and tumbled, Puss safe in her arms,
but only half yielding to restraint, and, smiling at her father's funny
glance, she answered, gasping a little with her exertions,

"It was Hafiz, papa. I had thought of Ali Baba, but that always
suggests the forty thieves, you know, and I wouldn't like my pretty
Angora to be accused of stealing even cream--fat