The lamps were lighted, and the long, level rays flashed their golden
warning over the murmuring darkness of the summer sea, giving cheer
to many hearts on inbound barque or schooner. Bright indeed was the
star on the top of the old lighthouse; but no less radiant was the
face of little Star, as she turned it eagerly towards Captain January, and waited for the beginning of the well-known and well-loved story.
"Wal," said the Captain, when his pipe was refilled and drawing
bravely. "Let me see now! where shall I begin?"
"At the beginning!" said Star promptly.
"Jes' so!" assented the old man. "Ten years ago this--"
"No! No!!" cried the child. "_That_ isn't the beginning, Daddy! That's
almost half-way to the middle. 'When I was a young lad.' That's the
beginning."
"Bound to have it all, are ye, Honeysuckle?" said the obedient
Captain. "Wal! Wal! when I were a young lad, I was a wild un, ye see, Treasure. My father, he 'prenticed me to a blacksmith, being big and strong for my years; but I hadn't no heart for the work. All I cared about was the sea, and boats, and sailors, and sea talk. I ran away down to the wharf whenever I could get a chance, and left my work. Why, even when I went to meetin', 'stead o' listenin', to the minister, I was lookin' out the places about them as go down to the sea in ships, ye know, and 'that leviathan whom Thou hast made,' and all that. And there was Hiram, King of Tyre, and his ships! Lord! how I used to think about them ships, and wonder how they was rigged, and how many tons they were, and all about it. Yes! I was a wild un, and no mistake; and after awhile I got so roused up--after my mother 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
am here, Daddy, loving you: loving you _all to pieces_, you know!"
The old man was silent for a few minutes, caressing the little white
hands which lay like twin snowflakes in his broad, brown palm. Then
he resumed, cheerfully: