swarthy man, with close-curled black hair, and bright, dark eyes. Two
other men were lounging about the deck, but John took little heed of
them. This man, the strangest he had ever seen, claimed his whole
thought. He was as dark as the people in the geography book, where the
pictures of the different races were; not an Ethiopian, evidently (John
loved the long words in the geography book), because his nose was
straight and his lips thin; perhaps a Malay or an Arab. If one could see
a real Arab, one could ask him about the horses, and whether the dates
were always sticky, and what he did in a sandstorm, and lots of
interesting things. And then a Malay,--why, you could ask him how he
felt when he ran amuck,--only, perhaps, that would not be polite.

These meditations were interrupted by a hail from the schooner. It was
the dark man himself who spoke, in a quiet voice that sounded kind.

"Good-morning, sir! Will you come aboard this morning?"

John was not used to being called "Sir," and the word fell pleasantly on
ears that shrank from the detested syllable "Bub," with which strangers
were wont to greet him.

"Yes, if you please," he answered, with some dignity. It is, perhaps,
difficult to be stately when one is only five feet tall, but John felt
stately inside, as well as shy. The stranger turned and made a sign to
the other men, who came quickly, bringing a gang-plank, which they ran
out from the schooner's deck to the wharf. The Skipper, for such the
dark man appeared to be, made a sign of invitation, and after a moment's
hesitation, John ran across and stood on the deck of the white schooner.
Was he still dreaming? Would he wake in a moment and find himself back
in the garret at home, with Mr. Scraper shaking him?