“May He reckon with me in mercy, and not count up my sins!” the captain said, solemnly, and then bade Daph “good-night.”
IV.
The Red House with the Blue Shutters.
Captain Jones was a prompt and upright business-man, faithful to his engagements, at any sacrifice.
He was pledged to remain in New York the shortest possible space of time, he therefore had not, after attending to necessary business, even an hour to devote to Daph and the little ones. It was a sad moment to him, when he strained Charlie to his breast for the last time, and kissed his “Water-lily,” as he loved to call Louise.
He had given Daph a letter to a sailor’s widow, with whom he thought she would be able to secure a home, where she would escape the idle and vicious poor who congregated in less respectable parts of the city. After having made Daph count on her fingers, half a dozen times, the number of streets she must cross before she came to “the small red house, with blue shutters,” where she was to stop, he piloted the little party into Broadway, and setting their faces in the right direction, he bade them an affectionate farewell.
As he shook Daph’s black hand for the last time, she placed in his a small parcel, clumsily tied up in brown paper, saying, “You puts that in your pocket, Massa Cap’in, and when you gets to sea, you open it, and you will understand what Daph means.”
Captain Jones did, almost unconsciously, as Daph suggested, as, with a full heart, he turned away from the little ones who had become so dear to him.
Once more, the only protector of her master’s children, Daph’s energy seemed to return to her. She wound the shawl more closely about Louise, drew Charlie to her honest bosom, looked after the various bundles, and then set off at a regular marching pace.