"Where's the use," Mr. Jack is saying confidentially, "in Master Donald's bein' away so long? The place ain't natteral,—nothing's natteral without that boy. And there's Miss Dorothy, the trimmest little craft that ever was; here she's been tossin' about and draggin' anchor, so to speak, all because he ain't here alongside. He's gone to find out for certain, is he? Where's the use in findin' out? One clipper's as good as another if both are sound in the hull and full-rigged. To my mind the capt'n'd better took what the Lord's giv' him, and be thankful accordin'. You can't change the bottom o' the sea by continyully takin' soundin's. I tell you, messmate—"
He stops short as Lydia raises a warning finger,—
"You're forgetting again, Mr. Jack!" she pleads, "and after all the grammar me and Miss Dorry have taught you. Besides, you might be just as elegant in talking to me as to the family."
"Eleganter, Mistress Blum—eleganter," is the emphatic response; "but not when a chap's troubled—'t ain't in the order o' things. A cove can't pray grammatic and expect to be heard, can he? But, as I was sayin', there's been stormy times off the coast for the past three days. That boy ought t' have been kept at home. Gone to find out? Humph! Where's the use? S'pose when them two mites was throwed out from the sinkin' ship I'd 'a' waited to find out which babies they were; no, I ketched 'em fur what they was. Where's the use findin' out? There ain't no use in it. I'm an old sailor, but somehow I'm skeery as a lass to-night. I've kind o' lost my moorin's."
"Lost what, Mr. Jack?" said Lydia, with a start.
"My moorin's. It seems to me somehow's that lad'll never come to land."
"Mercy on us, Jack!" cried Lydia, in dismay. "What on earth makes you say a thing like that?"
"'Cos I'm lonesome. I'm upset," said Jack, rising gloomily, "an' that's all there is about it. An' there's that wall-eyed McSwiver—"
"Mr. Jack," exclaimed Lydia, suddenly, "you're not talking plain and honest with me. There's something else on your mind."
"An' so there is, Mistress Lydia; an' I may as well out with it. Ken you pictur' to yourself a craft tossed about on the sea, with no cap'ain nor compass nor steerin' gear nor nothin',—the whole thing clean adrift, an' no anchor to hold it from a-driftin' furder? Well, I'm that craft. I want some one to tow me into smooth waters, and then sail alongside allers—somebody kind and sensible and good. Now do you take the idee?"