"We must make a sailor of him," said Hartog, when he had sat Master Peter upon the table between us in the cabin. "He is a sturdy lad, and has the look in his eyes that seeks for space—the look of the sailor, whose natural home is the sea."
Could it be? Who can tell? Little Peter had a steadfast, far-off look in his eyes. I had not noticed it until Hartog directed my attention to it. Was it the call of the ocean? The call to the Dutch, and the English—seeking for space?