“Am I really like a princess?” said the child, clapping her hands, and laughing with pleasure. “Have you ever seen a princess, Daddy Captain, and did she look like me?”
“I seed—I saw—one, once,” replied the Captain, gravely, puffing at his pipe. “In Africky it was, when I was fust mate to an Indiaman. And she wa'n't like you, Peach Blossom, no more than Hyperion to a Satyr, and that kind o' thing. She had on a short petticut, comin' half-way down to her knees, and a necklace, and a ring through her nose. And—”
“Where were her other clothes?” asked the child.
“Wal—maybe she kem off in a hurry and forgot 'em!” said the Captain, charitably. “Anyhow, not speakin' her language, I didn't ask her. And she was as black as the ace of spades, and shinin' all over with butter.”
“Oh, that kind of princess!” said Star, loftily. “I didn't mean that kind, Daddy. I meant the kind who live in fretted palaces, with music in th' enamelled stones, you know, and wore clothes like these every day.”
“Wal, Honey, I never saw one of that kind, till now!” said the Captain, meekly. “And I'm sorry I hain't—I mean I ain't—got no fretted palace for my princess to live in. This is a poor place for golden lasses and velvet trains.”
“It isn't!” cried the child, her face flashing into sudden anger, and stamping her foot. “You sha'n't call it a poor place, Daddy! It's wicked of you. And I wouldn't live in a palace if there were fifty of them all set in a row. So there now!” She folded her arms and looked defiantly at the old man, who returned her gaze placidly, and continued to puff at his pipe, until he was seized in a penitent embrace, hugged, and kissed, and scolded, and wept over, all at once.
The brief tempest over, the child seated herself comfortably on his knee, and said, “Now, Daddy, I want a story.”
“Story before supper?” asked the Captain, meekly, looking at the saucepan, which was fairly lifting its lid in its eagerness to be attended to. A fresh access of remorseful hugging followed.
“You poor darling!” said Star; “I forgot all about supper. And it's stewed kidneys, too! But oh! my dress!” and she glanced down at her velvet splendour. “I must go and take it off,” she said, sadly.