“I haven’t a quarter,” said Grandmother, “but it’s worth something to sit down in this comfortable chair. Were you ever at sea, Mr. Patton?”
“Ya-a-ow!” snarled Mr. Patton. It sounded almost as much like “no” as “yes,” but Grandmother did not heed it much. She had dropped lightly into the chair, and was looking at a picture that hung opposite the bed; a colored lithograph of a ship under full sail. The workmanship was rough and poor, but the waves were alive, and the ship moved.
“I like that!” said Grandmother softly. “I never saw the sea, but I knew a sailor once.” She began to sing very softly, hardly above her breath.
“There were two gallant ships
Put out to sea.
Sing high, sing low, and so sailed we.
The one was Prince of Luther and the other Prince of Wales;
Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbarie;
Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbarie.”
“Who taught you that?” growled Parker Patton.
“A sailor; his name was Neddard, Neddard Prowst. He came—” The sick man started up on his elbows.
“Neddard Prowst! he was a shipmate of mine; we sailed together three years, and if I hadn’t come ashore like a grass-fool we might be sailing yet. Where did you see Neddard, young woman?”
“In the mountains. He came ashore; he thought he would like mining, but he didn’t. He was always longing for the sea.”