‘I do, we grew up together.’
‘Will you bring her here?’
‘I will. Build me a gilded galleon; give me twenty musicians; let me take your son with me; and let no one gainsay whatever I do. Then I will go. I shall take seven years to go and come.’
They took their bread, their water for seven years; they set out. They went to the maiden’s country. At break of day Baldpate brought the galleon near the maiden’s house; the maiden’s house was close to the sea. Baldpate said, ‘I’ll go upon deck for a turn; don’t any of you show yourselves.’ He went up; he paced the deck.
The dervish’s daughter arose from her sleep. The sun struck on the galleon; it struck, too, on the house. The girl went out, rubs her eyes. A man pacing up and down. She bowed forward and saw our Baldpate. She knew him: ‘What wants he here?’
‘What seek you here?’
‘I’ve come for you, come to see you; it is so many years since I’ve seen you. Come aboard. Your father, where’s he gone to?’
‘Don’t you know that my father has been painting my portrait? He’s gone to sell it; I’m expecting him these last few days.’
‘Come here, and let’s have a little talk.’
The girl went to dress. Baldpate went to his crew. ‘Hide yourselves; don’t let a soul be seen; but the moment I get her into the cabin, do you cut the ropes; I shall be talking with her.’