was an unmistakable compliment, and Lydia blushed to the captain's
entire content. "That's a rug she hooked," he continued, touching with
his toe the carpet, rich in its artless domestic dyes as some Persian
fabric, that lay before the berth. "These gimcracks belong to my
girls; they left 'em." He pointed to various slight structures of
card-board worked with crewel, which were tacked to the walls.
"Pretty snug, eh?"

"Yes," said Lydia, "it's nicer than I thought it could be, even after
what grandfather said."

"Well, that's right!" exclaimed the captain. "I like your way of
speaking up. I wish you could know my girls. How old are you now?"

"I'm nineteen," said Lydia.

"Why, you're just between my girls!" cried the captain. "Sally is
twenty-one, and Persis is eighteen. Well, now, Miss Blood," he said,
as they returned to the cabin, "you can't begin to make yourself at
home too soon for me. I used to sail to Cadiz and Malaga a good deal;
and when I went to see any of them Spaniards he'd say, 'This house
is yours.' Well, that's what I say: This ship is yours as long as you
stay in her. And I _mean_ it, and that's more than _they_
did!" Captain Jenness laughed mightily, took some of Lydia's fingers
in his left hand and squeezed them, and clapped her grandfather on the
shoulder with his right. Then he slipped his hand down the old man's
bony arm to the elbow, and held it, while he dropped his head towards
Lydia, and said, "We shall be glad to have him stay to supper, and as
much longer as he likes, heh?"