e-clouds, reef-point-patterin' regions
again--which, by the way, should be pretty well choked wi' Krakatoa dust
by this time. Come down out o' that if ye want to hold or'nary
intercourse wi' your old father. She's far too young yet, my boy. You
must just do as many a young fellow has done before you, attend to your
dooties and forget her."

"Forget her!" returned the youth, with that amused, quiet expression
which wise men sometimes assume when listening to foolish suggestions.
"I could almost as easily forget my mother!"

"A very proper sentiment, Nigel, very--especially the `almost' part of
it."

"Besides," continued the son, "she is not so _very_ young--and that
difficulty remedies itself every hour. Moreover, I too am young. I can
wait."

"The selfishness of youth is only equalled by its presumption," said the
captain. "How d'ee know _she_ will wait?"

"I don't know, father, but I _hope_ she will--I--_think_ she will."

"Nigel," said the captain, in a tone and with a look that were meant to
imply intense solemnity, "have you ever spoken to her about love?"

"No, father."

"Has she ever spoken to _you_?"

"No--at least--not with her lips."

"Come, boy, you're humbuggin' your old father. Her tongue couldn't well
do it without the lips lendin' a hand."

"Well then--with neither," returned the son. "She spoke with her eyes--
not intentionally, of course, for the eyes, unlike the lips, refuse to
be under control."

"Hm! I see--reef-point-patterin' poetics again! An' what did she say
with her eyes!"

"Really, father, you press me too hard; it is difficult to translate
eye-language, but if you'll only let memory have free play and revert to
that time, nigh quarter of a century ago, when you first met with a
certain _real_ poetess, perhaps--"

"Ah! you dog! you have me there. But how dare you, sir, venture to
think of marryin' on nothin'?"

"I don't think of doing so. Am I not a first mate with a handsome
salary?"

"No, lad, you're not. You're nothin' better than a seaman out o' work,
with your late ship wrecked in a cocoa-nut grove!"

"That's true," returned Nigel with a laugh. "But is not the cargo of
the said ship safe in Batavia? Has not its owner a good bank account in
England? Won't another ship be wanted, and another first mate, and
would the owner dare to pass over his own son, who is such a competent
seaman--according to your own showing? Come, father, I turn the tables
on y