died, it was, and my father married again--that I just run away, and
shipped aboard of a whaler, bound for the north seas. Wal, Honey,
'twould take me a week to tell ye about all my voyages. Long and short
of it, 'twas the life I was meant for, and I done well in it. Had
tumbles and toss-ups, here and there, same as everybody has in any
kind o' life; but I done well, and by the time I was forty year old
I was captain of the _Bonito_, East Indiaman, sailin' from New York
to Calcutta."

The Captain paused, and puffed gravely at his pipe for a few minutes.

"Well, Rosebud," he continued, presently, "you know what comes next.
The _Bonito_ was cast away, in a cyclone, on a desert island, and
all hands lost, except me and one other."

"Dear Daddy! poor Daddy!" cried the child, putting her little hands
up to the weather-beaten face, and drawing it down to hers. "Don't
talk about that dreadful part. Go on to the next!"

"No, I won't talk about it, Star Bright!" said the old man, very
gravely. "Fust place I can't, and second place it ain't fit for little
maids to hear of. But I lived on that island fifteen year,--five year
with my good mate Job Hotham, and ten year alone, after Job died.
When a ship kem by, after that, and took me off, I'd forgot most
everything, and was partly like the beasts that perish; but it kem
back to me. Slow, like, and by fits, as you may say; but it kem back,
all there was before, and maybe a good bit more!"

"Poor Daddy!" murmured the child again, pressing her soft cheek
against the white beard. "It's all over now! Don't think of it! I