I followed him down the companion into the prettiest little cuddy it has ever been my good fortune to behold. Two large and beautifully fitted up cabins led off it, and in a corner of one of them hung a cradle. Mrs. Ellison conducted us to it, and drew aside the curtain, disclosing the tiny occupant asleep.
"What a really beautiful child!" I cried, in an outburst of sincere admiration, "and pray what may be his name?"
"Murkard," said the father quietly, and without another remark led me back on deck again.
The name, and the tone in which it was uttered, puzzled me very considerably. But I was destined to be enlightened later on.
That night, when we sat under the awning on deck, smoking, and watching the lights of Papeete glittering ashore, and only the gentle gurgle of the water rising and falling alongside disturbed our talk, Ellison told me the story I have here told you.
When he had finished I felt constrained to say:
"With a little alteration of names and places, what a good book it would make."
"Wouldn't it," he answered seriously. "But my life's far too full of other interests now to write it."
"Will you let me try my hand on it?" I asked eagerly.
"If you like. But before you do it you must promise me two things."