Perhaps the readers of the previous volumes will recollect that Isaac Murch became so much interested in the account given him, in Havana, by Captain Rhines, of the noble conduct of Flour in respect to his old master, aiding him in his poverty, and also of his kindness and fidelity to himself when sick, that he determined to teach him to read and write, and he made some progress during the passage home. When Isaac went to sea again, John Rhines became his teacher, and when John went to learn a trade, Captain Rhines undertook the task himself. It was quite pleasing to note the respect with which Flour was treated by the whole community since he had begun to respect himself, had become a temperate man, and was acquiring knowledge; for, not satisfied with teaching him to read, Captain Rhines was instructing him in arithmetic. He spent the rainy days, and other leisure moments he could spare from his labor, in studying. Nobody now called him Flour, except occasionally from long habit.
It was now James, or Peterson, or even Mr. Peterson. He was an excellent calker and rigger. Captain Rhines introduced him at Wiscasset, where they built many large vessels to carry ton-timber and spars, as a reliable workman, and he had all the work he wanted. The captain also gave him a piece of land, put him up a houseframe, and boarded it. He was able to finish it, little by little, himself, and leave the money, which was in Captain Rhines’s hands, on interest. He had a boy, Benjamin, named after Captain Rhines, nineteen years old, a stout, smart fellow, with very handsome form and features, all the boy, now John Rhines was gone, that Charlie couldn’t throw; but he was so black he shone.
Before this, Flour lived near Captain Rhines’s pasture, in a half-faced log cabin, where he had squat. It stood among a bed of thistles, with heaps of clam shells all around. Destitute of a chimney, the smoke went through a hole in the roof of his cabin, and he was called Old Flour.
No one but they who had lived on Elm Island could imagine what a convenience the Perseverance, Jr. had become. Indeed, not a member of the family would have parted with her for any consideration.
Sunday morning, no matter if it was quite rough, they would all but Sally Merrithew or Mrs. Rhines, get in and go to meeting. On pleasant days they would take the baby, and then all could go. If it was calm it did not matter in the least. Ben would take two oars, and, sitting on the forward thwart, row cross-handed, while Charlie would pull one oar aft, and Sally, assisted, or rather bothered, by Ben, Jr., would steer.
The boat had not been in the water a week before Mrs. Rhines and Mary discovered that they had never seen the baby, and must see it; and Charlie had to bring them on.
It was so convenient, too, for Sally’s mother, who was no more afraid of the water than a coot, to come and see her daughter! and even Mrs. Rhines, naturally timorous on the water, was not afraid to come in that boat.
Tige came on with the Rhines girls. He wanted to see the baby; and such a frolic as he had with Ben, Jr., and the little one you never saw! Tige played rather rough. Every once in a while he would get the whole top of Bennie’s head into his mouth, and scrape the scalp with the points of his teeth, till the child would sing out at the top of his voice, and quit playing till it had done smarting, and then begin with new zeal. Bennie had a great chunk of meat that Tige wanted; but Ben wouldn’t give it to him. Tige followed him round, and when his attention was occupied, licked it out of his hand; but before he could swallow it, Ben got bold of one half, and it was which and t’other, till, Ben’s fingers slipping on the greasy meat, he went over backwards on the floor, and the meat disappeared down Tige’s throat in a moment.
The child, provoked, began to strike him; but all the notice Tige took of it was to wag his tail in complacent triumph, and lick the child’s greasy fingers.
“It wouldn’t be a very safe operation for a man to pull meat out of Tige’s mouth, and strike him in that way,” said Ben, patting fondly the noble brute; “his life wouldn’t be worth much.”