Grap. Oui, ze child! Ven ze poor lady die, ze capitan, he take ze leetle boy, and he say, “I do not know zis child or his mozar, but ze child sall be remembered.” So, wiz ze needle and ze ink, he prick upon ze leetle arm of ze leetle boy ze leetle red anchor.
Ray. Sept. Gale, speak the truth! Have you such a mark upon your arm?
Sept. No, no,—thank Heaven, no!
March. (Rushing to C.) One minute! Just somebody watch me, for I know it’s coming! (Throws off his coat and rolls up his sleeves.) It’s no use trying to deceive me any longer! I am the child! See the little red anchor!
All. The anchor!
Ray. My boy, my boy!
| John Gale. | } Our March! |
| Mrs. Gale. |
Sept. Heaven be praised!
Kate. My dear, dear brother!