Imogen rubbed her head deprecatingly against the small pink shoulder, and uttered a soft and apologetic “moo;” but Star was not ready to be mollified yet.
“And you know it's my own book, too!” she continued, reproachfully. “My own Willum Shakespeare, that I love more—well, no! not more than I love you, Imogen, but just as much, and almost nearly half as much as I love Daddy Captain.
“But after all,” she added, with a smile flitting over her frowning little face, “after all, you poor dear, you are only a cow, and I don't suppose you know.” And then she hugged Imogen, and blew a little into one of her ears, to make her wink it, and the two were very friendly again.
“Perhaps you would like to know, Imogen,” said Star, confidentially, seating herself once more on the ground, “why I am so fond of Willum Shakespeare. So I will tell you. It is really part of my story, but Daddy Captain didn't get as far as that last night, so I think I will tell it to you. Well!” she drew a long breath of enjoyment, and, clasping her hands round her knees, settled herself for a “good talk.”
“Well, Imogen: you see, at first I was a little baby, and didn't know anything at all. But by and by I began to grow big, and then Daddy Captain said to himself, 'Here's a child,' he says, 'and a child of gentlefolks, and she mustn't grow up in ignorance, and me doing my duty by her poor pa and ma,' he says. So he rows over to the town, and he goes to the minister (the same minister who came over here before), and he says, 'Good morning, Minister!' and the minister shakes him by the hand hearty, and says, 'Why, Captain January!' he says, 'I'm amazing glad to see you. And how is the child?' And Daddy says, 'The child is a-growing with the flowers,' he says; 'and she's a-growing like the flowers. Show me a rose that's as sweet and as well growed as that child,' he says, 'and I'll give you my head, Minister.' That's the way Daddy talks, you know, Imogen. And then he told the minister how he didn't want the child (that was me, of course) to grow up in ignorance, and how he wanted to teach me. And the minister asked him was he qualified to teach. 'Not yet, I ain't!' says Daddy Captain, 'but I'm a-going to be. I want a book, or maybe a couple of books, that'll edicate me in a manner all round!' he says. 'I couldn't do with a lot of 'em,' he says, ''cause I ain't used to it, and it makes things go round inside my head. But I think I could tackle two if they was fustrate,' he says. The minister laughed, and told Daddy he wanted a good deal. Then he asked him if he had the Good Book. That's the Bible, you know, Imogen. Daddy Captain won't let me read that to you, because you are a beast that perish. Poor dear!” she leaned forward and kissed Imogen's pink nose. “And Daddy said of course he had that, only the letters weren't so clear as they used to be, somehow, perhaps along of getting wet in his weskit pocket, being he carried it along always. So the minister gave him a new big BEAUTIFUL Bible, Imogen! It isn't so new now, but it's just as big and beautiful, and I love it. And then he thought for a long time, the minister did, walking about the room and looking at all the books. The whole room was full of books, Daddy says, all on shelves, 'cept some on the floor and the table and the chairs. It made his head go round dreadful to see them all, Daddy says (I mean Daddy's head), and think of anybody reading them. He says he doesn't see how in creation the minister manages to keep his bearings, and look out for a change in the wind, and things that have to be done, and read all those books too. Well!” she kissed Imogen's nose again, from sheer enjoyment, and threw her head back with a laugh of delight. “I'm coming to it now, Imogen!” she cried. “At last the minister took down a big book—OH! you precious old thing, how I love you!” (this apostrophe was addressed to the quarto volume which she was now hugging rapturously), “and said, 'Well, Captain January, here's the best book in the world, next to the Good Book!' he says. 'You'll take this,' he says, 'as my gift to you and the child; and with these two books to guide you, the child's edication won't go far wrong!' he says; and then he gave Daddy the dictionary, too, Imogen; but I sha'n't tell you about that, because it's a brute, and I hate and 'spise it. But—well! so, you see, that was the way I got my Willum Shakespeare, my joy and my pride, my—”
At this moment a shadow fell upon the grass, and a deep, gruff voice was heard, saying, “Star, ahoy!” The child started up, and turned to meet the newcomer with a joyous smile. “Why, Bob!” she cried, seizing one of his hands in both of hers, and dancing round and round him. “Where did you come from? Why aren't you on the boat?”
“Boat's aground!” replied the person addressed as Bob. He spoke in short, jerky sentences. He was dressed as a seafaring man; had wide, helpless-looking brown eyes, an apologetic smile, and a bass voice of appalling depth and power. “Boat's aground,” he repeated, seating himself on the grass and looking about for a stem of grass long enough to put in his mouth. “Hard and fast. Waiting for tide to turn; thought I'd come, pass time o' day.”
“And how came you to run her aground?” inquired the child, severely. “A pretty pilot you are! Why, I could steer her myself better than that.”
“Fog!” replied the man, in a meek and muffled roar. Then finding a bit of sorrel, he fell upon it with avidity, and seemed to think he had said enough.
“H'm!” said Star, with a disdainful little sniff. “You'd better get Daddy to steer your boat. He doesn't mind fog. Are there many people on board?” she added, with an air of interest.