“And so he is,” replied Bessy. “I’m not his daughter, although I call him father.”
“Indeed! then whose daughter are you? and who is the old lady upstairs?”
“The old lady upstairs is the widow of the pilot with whom father served his time. Her husband was lost at sea, and she keeps father’s house. Father picked me up at sea, and has taken care of me ever since.”
“Then you don’t remember your own parents?”
“No, I recollect nothing till I found myself in this house. Father says I’m a Dutchman, because it was a Dutch ship or a Dutch boat which I was taken out of.”
“And how long was that ago?”
“Nine years ago. I am now, I believe, about ten years old.”
Bessy then catechised me relative to my own family, and I had not answered all her questions when Bramble came downstairs.
“Bessy, dear, we must have the doctor to look at that leg again. I’m afeard that it will never get well. Missus is too old to shake it off.”
“Shall I go now, father?”