“Oh! Please do!”
“This,” Tillie began, “was once the cabin of a ship.”
“It looks the part,” replied Florence. “But where are the portholes?”
“Someone has covered them.” Tillie stepped to the wall, fumbled for a short time with a fastening, then swung back a section of the paneling which was, in reality, a small door, revealing a circle of brass framing a glass.
“But why a ship’s cabin on land?” Florence’s face took on a puzzled frown.
“It was all on account of old Captain Abner Jones. His ship was wrecked on the shoals near Goose Island. She was the ‘Mary C,’ just a freighter, but a good strong one.
“Captain Abner Jones had her for his first command. She was his last, too. He lived in this cabin and sailed the Great Lakes for thirty-five years.
“Then, when she struck one stormy night, through no fault of his, he refused to leave her. All through the storm he stuck there, though she was half torn to pieces. When the storm was over, his men went out to get him.
“Still he wouldn’t come. ‘No, men. Much obliged all the same,’ he told them. ‘You’ve been a good crew. You’ll find other berths. But mine’s here. I’ll never leave this cabin.’
“The men went aside. I’ve heard my father tell it lots of times. They talked it over. They loved their old skipper. They knew the next storm would do for the ship, and him, too, if he stayed. So they made a plan.