I had no objection to being attentive to our little passenger. I judged her to be a mighty plucky little girl. Of course, her father had been dead long enough for the first of her grief to have been assuaged before she had sailed from India. And the friends she had sailed with had won her heart; therefore she had not loved them enough to miss them much now.
She had endured privations in the drifting boat remarkably well. She told me of the man that had gone crazy and leaped overboard. She did not seem to know that the men aboard the boat with her had had no food. I began to have a remarkably high opinion of Dao Singh. Yet I knew very well that he had strangled the man I had found dead in the boat and had been unable to throw the heavy body overboard.
There’s a vast difference between the negro race and the Hindoo, I thought, remembering Mr. Gates’ words, “This Dao Singh is a remarkable man, or I am much mistaken.”
Mr. Barney came along and spoke to the little one, and she seemed to like him—as I had—at first sight. Afterward the young second mate talked a little in private with me.
“Mr. Robbins says she takes to you and is willing to talk with you, Webb.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re trying to draw out from her her history?”
“I am, sir.”
“It’s a good idea. There may be some difficulty in getting trace of her friends.”
“Well, she sha’n’t suffer, if her friends don’t turn up,” I said, with emphasis. “My mother is rich and she will be glad to take Phillis herself, I have no doubt.”