"How large a bit do you want?"
"Oh, just a little piece," said Dolly. "I wanted just a little piece to keep—but it's no matter. I wanted to keep it."
"A keepsake?" said the young man. "To remember us by? They are breaking up,"—he added immediately, casting his glance aft, where a stir and a gathering and a movement on deck in front of the captain's cabin could now be seen, and the sound of voices came fresh along the breeze. "They are going—there is no time now. I will send you a piece, if you will tell me where I can send it. Where do you live?"
"Oh, will you? Oh, thank you!" said Dolly, and her face lifted confidingly to the young officer grew sunny with pleasure. "I live at Mrs. Delancy's school;—but no, I don't! I don't live there. My home is at Uncle Edward's—Mr. Edward Eberstein—in Walnut Street."
"What number?" said the midshipman, using his pencil again on the much scribbled piece of paper; and Dolly told him.
"And whom shall I send the—the piece of rope, to?"
"Oh, yes!—Dolly Copley. That is my name. Good bye, I must go."
"Dolly Copley. You shall have it," said he, giving the little hand she held out to him a right sailorly grasp. And Dolly ran away. In the bustle and anxiety of getting lowered into the little boat again she forgot him and everything else; however, so soon as she was safely seated and just as the men were ordered to "give way," she looked up at the great ship they were leaving; and there, just above her, leaning on the guards and looking over and down at her, she saw her midshipman friend. Dolly saw nothing else till his face was too small in the distance to be any longer recognised.