uldn't think of giv'n him the Cap'n's name?" said Aunt Ruey.

"He must have a name of his own," said Captain Pennel. "Come here,
sonny," he called to the child, who was playing just beside the door.

The child lowered his head, shook down his long black curls, and looked
through them as elfishly as a Skye terrier, but showed no inclination to
come.

"One thing he hasn't learned, evidently," said Captain Pennel, "and that
is to mind."

"Here!" he said, turning to the boy with a little of the tone he had
used of old on the quarter-deck, and taking his small hand firmly.

The child surrendered, and let the good man lift him on his knee and
stroke aside the clustering curls; the boy then looked fixedly at him
with his great gloomy black eyes, his little firm-set mouth and bridled
chin,--a perfect little miniature of proud manliness.

"What's your name, little boy?"

The great eyes continued looking in the same solemn quiet.

"Law, he don't understand a word," said Zephaniah, putting his hand
kindly on the child's head; "our tongue is all strange to him. Kittridge
says he's a Spanish child; may be from the West Indies; but nobody
knows,--we never shall know his name."

"Well, I dare say it was some Popish nonsense or other," said Aunt Ruey;
"and now he's come to a land of Christian privileges, we ought to give
him a good Scripture name, and start him well in the world."

"Let's call him Moses," said Zephaniah, "because we drew him out of the
water."

"Now, did I ever!" said Miss Ruey; "there's something in the Bible to
fit everything, ain't there?"

"I like Moses, because I had a brother of that name," said Mrs. Pennel.

The child had slid down from his protector's knee, and stood looking
from one to the other gravely while this discussion was going on. What
change of destiny was then going on for him in this simple formula of
adoption, none could tell; but, surely, never orphan stranded on a
foreign shore found home with hearts more true and loving.

"Well, wife, I suppose we must be goin'," said Zephaniah.

About a stone's throw from the open door, the little fishing-craft lay
courtesying daintily on the small tide-waves that came licking up the
white pebbly shore. Mrs. Pennel seated herself in the end of the boat,
and a pretty placid picture she was, with her smooth, parted hair, her
modest, cool, drab bonnet, and her bright hazel eyes, in which was the
Sabbath calm of a loving and tender heart. Zephaniah