"Do you s'pose your Uncle Ben will let me stay here very long?" the little lad asked wistfully.
"Of course he will, else you wouldn't have been brought here. He's buildin' up a family out of jest sich lonesome boys as you an' me, an' you've come here to be part of it. Camp down in my bunk while I look after the supper, for I'm the cook, an' keep on thankin' your lucky stars that Uncle Ben happened to see you at the right time. How long have you been at the poor farm?"
"Ever since I can remember."
"Did you like it out there?"
"It wasn't very nice," Joey replied timidly, and Sam added emphatically:
"I'll bet it wasn't, though there was one spell when I thought it would be a good deal better than livin' aboard the 'Sally D.' with Cap'en Doak ugly a good deal more'n half the time. Did you ever see that cousin down in St. Johns?"
"I never knew there was one till Deacon Stubbs said it was a shame a big boy like me should be eatin' the bread of idleness, when I had blood relations that were next door to rollin' in luxury."
"Well, was you idle?"
"I did everything they told me—lugged in the wood, split the kindlings, drove the cows to pasture, an' brought in the water——"
"An' that's what they call eatin' the bread of idleness!" Uncle Ben cried as he entered with his arms full of packages, which he laid in one of the bunks, and, taking Joey in his arms, seated himself by the window. "Look out there at our schooner, sonny boy! Some day she'll be layin' at anchor, as trim a craft as ever floated, an' then you shall walk the quarter-deck like any cap'en, while we do the drudgery. You're one of the family now, Joey, an' I'm countin' that all hands will come to love you as much as I've found time to do already. You're a wee mite of a thing, an' it's a baby we've been needin' to make things ship-shape, so that's the berth you've dropped inter. Now then, Sammy, get them biscuit out, for I reckon our Joey is mighty sharkish, seein's he hasn't had any dinner, an' come to think of it, neither have I, for that matter."