turned for his daughter.

She was a delicate-looking child of six years old, with blue eyes
and bright hair. Though indulged by her father, and spoiled by her mother,
the natural sweetness of her disposition saved her from being disagreeable,
and the effects of her education as yet only showed themselves
in a thousand imperious prettinesses, which made her the darling
of the ship. Little Miss Sylvia was privileged to go anywhere
and do anything, and even convictism shut its foul mouth in her presence.
Running to her father's side, the child chattered with all the volubility
of flattered self-esteem. She ran hither and thither,
asked questions, invented answers, laughed, sang, gambolled,
peered into the compass-case, felt in the pockets of the man at the helm,
put her tiny hand into the big palm of the officer of the watch,
even ran down to the quarter-deck and pulled the coat-tails
of the sentry on duty.

At last, tired of running about, she took a little striped leather ball
from the bosom of her frock, and calling to her father, threw it up to him
as he stood on the poop. He returned it, and, shouting with laughter,
clapping her hands between each throw, the child kept up the game.

The convicts--whose slice of fresh air was nearly eaten--turned
with eagerness to watch this new source of amusement. Innocent laughter
and childish prattle were strange to them. Some smiled,
and nodded with interest in the varying fortunes of the game.
One young lad could hardly restrain himself from applauding.
It was as though, out of the sultry heat which brooded over the ship,
a cool breeze had suddenly arisen.