CHAPTER XIV.
DERRY DUCK.
Derry Duck having vouchsafed his protection to the young stranger, for a time sought no further intimacy with him. He might be seen occasionally among the groups who were won to hear a song or a story from Blair, but he was apt to leave these scenes suddenly, as if for some call of duty or stirred by some quick and painful thrust of feeling.
Captain Knox was a stern, moody man, who had very little direct intercourse with his crew. Derry Duck was made his medium of communication on every ordinary occasion. The captain was the only person on board who kept a stock of writing materials, and from him, through Derry, Blair and the other sailors obtained such articles on the rare occasions when they were in demand. There was not much taste or time for literary efforts on board the Molly.
A pleasant evening had collected all the sailors on deck, and Blair had taken the opportunity to retire below to spend some time in recalling Scripture to his mind, which was now his substitute for reading in the holy book. He was roused from his meditations by the entrance of Derry Duck, with an inkstand in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. Blair rose as the mate came towards him, supposing the writing materials were to be left in his charge for some shipmate.
"Sit down, boy," said Derry in his quick way, "sit down; I want you to do something for me."
"I should be right glad to do any thing I could for you. You have been a real friend to me," said Blair warmly. "You can't think how much I thank you for it."
Derry sat down and laid the paper on the table before him. Then the two were for a moment silent. Blair and his "friend" formed a strange contrast to each other.
The slender stripling, tall for his years, was yet in the blossom of his youth. His face, which was so like his loving mother's, would have been effeminate, but for the savor of old Joe Robertson the pilot, which told in the marked nose and strong chin of the boy, but had no part in his great, clear, soul-lit eyes, or the flexible lines of his changing mouth. That mouth was now parted as if he would say more, but waited for some word or sign from his companion.
Deny Duck was a very bundle of time-worn, storm-tried muscles and sinews. The knots on his bare arms were like knobs of oak; and his great brawny hand that lay there on the white paper, looked like a powerful living thing, having almost an identity and will of its own.