"Fifty years since I last clapped eyes on it, ma'am," he answered. "And I
was then a youngster of no more than twelve years or so. But as to who
and what I am--name of James Gilverthwaite. Late master of as good a ship
as ever a man sailed. A quiet, respectable man. No swearer. No
drinker--saving in reason and sobriety. And as I say--money no object,
and cash down whenever it's wanted. Look here!"

He plunged one of the big hands into a trousers' pocket, and pulled it
out again running over with gold. And opening his fingers he extended
the gold-laden palm towards us. We were poor folk at that time, and it
was a strange sight to us, all that money lying in the man's hand, and
he apparently thinking no more of it than if it had been a heap of
six-penny pieces.

"Help yourself to whatever'll pay you for a month," he exclaimed. "And
don't be afraid--there's a lot more where that came from."

But my mother laughed, and motioned him to put up his money.

"Nay, nay, sir!" said she. "There's no need. And all I'm asking at you is
just to know who it is I'm taking in. You'll be having business in the
town for a while?"

"Not business in the ordinary sense, ma'am," he answered. "But there's
kin of mine lying in more than one graveyard just by, and it's a fancy of
my own to take a look at their resting-places, d'ye see, and to wander
round the old quarters where they lived. And while I'm doing that, it's a
quiet, and respectable, and a comfortable lodging I'm wanting."

I could see that the sentiment in his speech touched my mother, who was