It was a quarter to six in the morning as the mate of the sailing-barge Osprey came on deck and looked round for the master, who had been sleeping ashore and was somewhat overdue. Ten minutes passed before he appeared on the wharf, and the mate saw with surprise that he was leaning on the arm of a pretty girl of twenty, as he hobbled painfully down to the barge.
“Here you are then,” said the mate, his face clearing. “I began to think you weren’t coming.”
“I’m not,” said the skipper; “I’ve got the gout crool bad. My darter here’s going to take my place, an’ I’m going to take it easy in bed for a bit.”
“I’ll go an’ make it for you,” said the mate.
“I mean my bed at home,” said the skipper sharply. “I want good nursing an’ attention.”
The mate looked puzzled.
“But you don’t really mean to say this young lady is coming aboard instead of you?” he said.
“That’s just what I do mean,” said the skipper. “She knows as much about it as I do. She lived aboard with me until she was quite a big girl. You’ll take your orders from her. What are you whistling about? Can’t I do as I like about my own ship?”
“O’ course you can,” said the mate drily; “an’ I s’pose I can whistle if I like—I never heard no orders against it.”
“Gimme a kiss, Meg, an’ git aboard,” said the skipper, leaning on his stick and turning his cheek to his daughter, who obediently gave him a perfunctory kiss on the left eyebrow, and sprang lightly aboard the barge.