"Yes," Jack said.
"Do you hail from Yarmouth?"
"Yes," said Jack again.
"Where's your father?"
"He was lost at sea—so we think; but we never heard a word about it, and mother thinks he may be still alive."
"Did he own several small herring boats, and have a share in a curing-house, before he went a-whaling?"
"Yes," Jack said, growing more and more wondering and excited by these questions.
"Look here, youngster. When I was a boy, eleven years ago, I was working on a whaleship, and your father was aboard. His name was John Harrison, hailing from Yarmouth."
"Oh!" Jack said. "Where is he—do you know?"
"No, my lad; let us hope his soul is gone aloft, but his body is lost. We had dragged our boat across a field of ice for some miles, on the look-out for our ship, which we had left, stored with provisions, in open water. We were pretty near starving, for we had missed the track, and the men said they would not go on another step. But your father, boy, had a brave heart, such as I never saw before or since; and he said, if those that were too chicken-hearted to go on, would stay where they were for a few hours, he would go ahead and find the ship, as he knew perfectly well we were near it, and near a village of the folk they call Esquimaux. One youngster, just such another as you, said, 'I'm your man, captain'; and they set off with a good heart. We that were left turned our boat bottom upwards, and a sorry set we were, frost-bitten and starving. We huddled together to keep each other warm—warm! why, I am cold now when I think of it; and look here, I lost a finger and the end of a thumb that same time."