if he didn't get back in time you was to go to eating, any way. Guess
you won't think Captain Jenness is going to starve anybody."

"Have you been many voyages with Captain Jenness before this?" asked
Lydia, as she set open her trunk, and began to lay her dresses out
on the locker. Homesickness, like all grief, attacks in paroxysms.
One gust of passionate regret had swept over the girl; before another
came, she could occupy herself almost cheerfully with the details of
unpacking.

"Only one before," said the boy. "The last one, when his daughters
went out. I guess it was their coaxing got mother to let me go.
_My_ father was killed in the war."

"Was he?" asked Lydia, sympathetically.

"Yes. I didn't know much about it at the time; so little. Both your
parents living?"

"No," said Lydia. "They're both dead. They died a long while ago.
I've always lived with my aunt and grandfather."

"I thought there must be something the matter,--your coming with your
grandfather," said the boy. "I don't see why you don't let me carry
in some of those dresses for you. I'm used to helping about."

"Well, you may," answered Lydia, "if you want." A native tranquil
kindness showed itself in her voice and manner, but something of the
habitual authority of a school-mistress mingled with it. "You must
be careful not to rumple them if I let you."