"Alexander," I answered.
We stood hugging each other like two polar bears.
In a few minutes of hurried chat, I found out that my brother, recovering his health, had married Nell King, a Baltimore girl, and was prospering as a merchant. Commodore Barney, who had backed Alexander in business, was at sea. (How I fell in with him later and increased the family fortunes by acting as chaplain on his privateer Polly may not be told now.)
Customers came into the shop, and promising to call on Alexander and Nell that night, I broke away and went on up to the house. Mustapha, gaping at the strange western land I had brought him to, and as bewildered as I had been when I wandered through his desert cities, walked closely beside me, clutching my arm. I saw some of the bullies who had mutinied on board The Rose of Egypt. I think they recognized me, but Mustapha and I were a stalwart pair, and the looks cast our way by the dock loafers were more of respect than of hostility.
We approached the rector's house at dusk. A welcoming light shone through the elms. I was swaggering along, thinking how much of a man I would appear to the rector. The yellow glow from the window, however, spread an influence that changed me into a soft-hearted boy. Here was I, a sailor hardened through contact with all sorts of men, toughened by wind, wave and warfare, yet brushing a tear from my cheek as I saw the lamp in the parsonage shining out cheerier than the ray of a lighthouse on a tempestuous night.
The door was bolted—I knocked. A girl answered, her face in the shadows.
I was as much taken aback as if I had seen a ghost. I was not used to seeing girls around the old home. Besides, Alexander had not warned me.
"Is it someone to see father?" she asked timidly.
"You are Nell, Alexander's wife?" I said boldly, "and a pretty choice he made!"