In the stern, Captain Carleton had found his way to Miss Stella’s side. She was leaning on the taffrail, listening to the singing, her white fleecy wrap falling around her like a cloud.
“You look your name to-night,” said the Captain: “Stella,—a star. By George, you were a star to me when the sky looked pretty black! I was thinking of that yesterday when some Eastern chap came along with a lot of diamonds for sale. I don’t know much about such folderols, but there was one piece—a star—that I’d like to give you, if you would take it and wear it in remembrance of a rough old fellow who can’t speak all he feels.”
“Ah, Captain Carleton,—Captain Carleton!” laughed the lady softly. “Take care! That Eastern chap was fooling you, I’m sure.”
“Not at all,—not at all!” was the quick reply. “I got an expert’s opinion. The star is worth the thousand dollars he asked.”
“A thousand dollars,—a thousand dollars!” repeated Miss Stella, in dismay. “And you would give me a thousand dollar star? Why, you must have money to burn, indeed!”
“Well, I suppose I have,” was the answer,—“much more than a lonely old fellow of sixty odd, without chick or child will ever need. Will you take the star, dear lady nurse?”
“No,” said Miss Stella, gently; “though I thank you for your generous thought of me, my good friend. But I have a better and a wiser investment for you. Have you forgotten this?” She took Dan’s medal from the bag on her wrist.
“By George, I did forget it!” said the old man. “Somehow, it slipped my memory completely in our pleasant hurry. Poor Jack Farley’s medal! You’ve found the chap that owns it, you say?”
“Yes,” was the answer—“a brave, sturdy, honest little chap, who stood by your poor old friend in his last lonely days, and helped him in his last lonely cruise, and took the medal from his dying hands as the last and only legacy he had to give. Would you consider him Jack Farley’s heir, Captain Carleton?”
“Most certainly I would,” was the rejoinder.