Sailor Bill had altered very much in appearance since the day he had been picked up in the Bay of Biscay and taken on board the Susan Jane, a thin, delicate-looking boy with a pale face and a wasted frame. The keen healthy air and out-of-doors life out west had worked wonders with him, and he was now rosy and stalwart, his body having filled out and his cheeks grown much fatter, while he was even considerably taller than he had been some six months previously.
His bright golden-brown hair was, of course, the same, and so were the long dark lashes to the blue eyes that had so especially appealed to Captain Blowser’s fancy when he had spoken about the boy’s resemblance to a girl, for they yet bore the same peculiar far-away look as if they belonged to a person walking in his sleep, without intelligence or notice in them whatever.
As on board ship, Sailor Bill stuck to Seth Allport as his shadow, moving where he moved, stopping where he stopped, with the faithful attachment of a dog, albeit wanting in that expression of sagacity, which even the dullest specimen of the canine race exhibits on all occasions. Seth Allport seemed to be the mainspring of the boy’s action, and after a time it became almost painful to watch the two, although the sailor had now grown accustomed to being followed about in so eccentric a fashion—as had, indeed, the rest of the party, who were not so distinctly singled out by the poor boy’s regard; but it was all new and strange to Ernest Wilton as he watched and wondered.
“What is the matter with the boy?” asked he presently of Mr Rawlings, who, from the fixed observation of his companion, had been expecting the question. “Poor fellow, he doesn’t seem all right in his mind—and a healthy, nice-looking boy, too!”
“Yes,” said Mr Rawlings, tapping his forehead expressively, and speaking feelingly as he looked affectionately at Sailor Bill, whom all had learnt to like as they would have done a pet dog;—“something wrong there, although I hope in time he will get over it in the same way as he came by it, if God so wills it!”
“I suppose he’s got some story attached to him, eh?” said Ernest Wilton.
“No doubt,” answered Mr Rawlings; “but nobody but himself knows it!”
“How strangely you pique my curiosity! Besides, his face seems quite familiar to me, somehow or other. Yes, it’s really quite familiar,” he repeated.
“Does it?” said Mr Rawlings eagerly, hoping that the young engineer might be able to tell something.
“Yes,” replied the other, “and I cannot tell how or where I have seen somebody like him before. But I will recollect presently, I have no doubt, after a little more reflection.”