Then, as if ashamed of his emotion, he suddenly rose, and kissing the child tenderly, gave her back to the woman Malineta. Then he turned to Prout.
“Waal, I guess I'll be goin'.... Naow, jest yew put them air cursed dollars back again. It's jest like yew darned Britishers, ter want ter shove money inter a man's hand, jest like ez if he war a nigger, an' hadn't a red cent ter buy a slice of watermelon with,” and then all his assumed roughness failed him, and his eyes grew misty as he grasped the Englishman's hand for the last time.
“Thet thar Mercedy.... Why, I hed sich a little mite once....” and he chewed fiercely at the fresh plug he had thrust into his cheek.
“Dead?” queried Prout, softly.
“Yes; diphthery. Yew see it came about th' way. When I got back ter Cohoes—thet's whar I belong—after that cussed pirut Semmes sunk my hooker, an' 'Riar sees me standin' in front ev her without givin' her any warnin' I was comin', she gets that skeered that she drops kerwallop on the floor, an' when she come to, an' heerd that the Mattie Casey was gone, waal, thet jest sorter finished her. Waal, she hung on ter life fur a year or so, kep' getting more powerful weak in the intelleck every day; an' when she died, my little Hope was on'y four years old. An' Hope died when I was away servin' in the Iroquois lookin' fur Semmes,... an' I ain't got no one else to keer fur me naow.... Waal, goodbye, Prout; I guess I'll beat up ter windward of this grewp, and then make a bee-line fur Honolulu.”
In another minute he had shambled down to the boat, and as the sun sank below the line of coconuts on the lee side of Nukutavau, the schooner swept away into the darkness. Then Prout, taking the little girl in his arms, followed old Malineta to the house of Patiaro the chief, and again took up the thread of his lonely existence.
Four years had come and gone. In his quiet house, under the shadow of the ever-rustling palms, Prout lay upon his rough couch of coarse mats, and little Mercedes stood beside him with her tiny hand upon his death-dewed forehead.
The missionary ship had just anchored in the lagoon, and Patiaro and his men had paddled off to her, so that, save for the low murmur of voices of women and children in the houses near by, the village lay silent.
Weeping softly, the child placed her tender cheek against the rugged face of the dying man, and whispered:
“What is it, my father, that aileth thee?”