"One thing he hasn't learned, evidently," said Captain Pennel, "and that is to mind."
"Here!" he said, turning to the boy with a little of the tone he had used of old on the quarter-deck, and taking his small hand firmly.
The child surrendered, and let the good man lift him on his knee and stroke aside the clustering curls; the boy then looked fixedly at him with his great gloomy black eyes, his little firm-set mouth and bridled chin,—a perfect little miniature of proud manliness.
"What's your name, little boy?"
The great eyes continued looking in the same solemn quiet.
"Law, he don't understand a word," said Zephaniah, putting his hand kindly on the child's head; "our tongue is all strange to him. Kittridge says he's a Spanish child; may be from the West Indies; but nobody knows,—we never shall know his name."
"Well, I dare say it was some Popish nonsense or other," said Aunt Ruey; "and now he's come to a land of Christian privileges, we ought to give him a good Scripture name, and start him well in the world."
"Let's call him Moses," said Zephaniah, "because we drew him out of the water."
"Now, did I ever!" said Miss Ruey; "there's something in the Bible to fit everything, ain't there?"
"I like Moses, because I had a brother of that name," said Mrs. Pennel.