“Why, Molly, that’s a hard job—you don’t want me to draw the moral, do you? I never was good at that, though I’ve known fellows with that peculiar cast o’ brain as could draw a moral out of a marline-spike if they were hard put to it. Seems to me that it’s best to let morals draw themselves. For instance, that time when I was wrecked on the South American coast, I came to a shallow river, an’ had to wade across, but was too lazy to pull off my boots, ’cause they were long fisherman’s boots, right up to the hip an’ rather tight; so in I went boots an’ all. Just as I was gettin’ to the other side, a most awful alligator seized hold o’ my right foot. It’s wonderful how easy my boot came off just then! Although I was used to tug, an’ shove, and gasp, and pull, at that boot of a night, no sooner did the alligator lay hold on it than my leg came out like a cork out of a bottle, and I was out o’ the water and up the bank like a squirrel. Now, Molly, what would you say was the moral that should be drawn from that—Never use an alligator as a boot-jack—eh?”
“I should say, Never wade across a South American river without your boots on,” suggested Jeff.
“Well, now, I should say, Never wade across a South American river at all,” said Miss Millet; “but, brother, that’s not what I meant. Before you arrived, Jeff and I had been talking about God’s ways with man, and I was trying to show that disasters and what we call misfortunes are not necessarily evil, but are often the means of great blessing. I don’t think Jeff quite sees that. I can’t explain myself clearly, brother; but you know what I mean.”
While the old lady was speaking, the captain had become thoughtful.
“Yes, I know what you mean,” he replied, “and I agree with you heartily. Is it not written of our Saviour, ‘He hath done all things well?’ and is He not unchangeable? Of course it is not to be expected that we shall always see through and understand His ways though we can always trust Him; but sometimes He lifts a corner of the veil and lets us see. Very odd, Molly,” continued the captain, extracting a large black pocket-book with some difficulty from a breast-pocket, “very odd that you should have touched on this question, for I have somethin’ to say to you that bears on it. Look here. What’s that?”
He handed an oblong piece of paper to his sister, who examined it slowly.
“Why, Dick, it’s a cheque for 500 pounds.”
“Just so, old girl, an’ it’s yours.”
“Mine!”
“Ay, I might have given it to you when I first came back, but I took a fancy to keep it as a little surprise for our last evenin’ together, so that I might leave you with a good taste in your mouth. Now, listen, an’ I’ll spin you an’ Jeff a yarn. But first fill up my cup. I’m fond o’ tea—nat’rally, bein’ a teetotaler. Up to the brim, Molly; I like a good bucketful. Thankee—now, let me see.”