But it is hard to think of these rooms without their inmates--the father, who is at his best, as he certainly is at his happiest, in his own house, the beautiful and gracious mother, and the four strikingly handsome children, with their healthy simplicity and unconsciousness which speak of that ideal home life which is the author’s highest fortune. The eldest child is a girl of twelve, “as fair as wheat,” with thoughtful eyes; next comes a boy two years younger, much darker in coloring, and with a face already full of expression; and last a pair of twins of eight, a boy and a girl--she with a nimbus of curly golden hair that makes her look like a saint by Fra Angelico, and he a singularly grave and sturdy little fellow, whose present energies are bent on being a sailor-man--a disposition which he gains fairly, for Mr. Crawford’s friends know that if he might have consulted only the natural bent of his mind, he would have followed the sea as his profession. From early boyhood he has passed the happiest hours of his leisure on board a boat, and he is as proficient in the management of the picturesque but dangerous felluca as any native skipper along the coast. When he bought an old New York pilot-boat, in 1896, he was admitted to the examination of the Association of American Ship-masters in consideration of his long experience, and he holds a proper ship-master’s certificate authorizing him to navigate sailing-vessels on the high seas. He proved his ability by navigating his little schooner across the Atlantic with entire success, and without the slightest assistance from the mate he took with him. This episode in a life which has had more variety than falls to the lot of most men shows clearly the predominant trait of Marion Crawford’s character, which is determination to follow out anything he undertakes until he knows how it should be done, even if he has not the time to work at it much afterward. Readers of “Casa Braccio” may have noticed that the old cobbler who is Paul Griggs’s friend is described with touches which show acquaintance with his trade, the fact being that while the author was preparing for college in the English village which he describes later in “A Tale of a Lonely Parish,” he made a pair of shoes “to see how it was done,” as he also joined the local bell-ringers to become familiar with the somewhat complicated system of peals and chimes. Mere curiosity is like the clutch of a child’s hand, which usually means nothing, and may break what it seizes, but the insatiable thirst for knowledge of all kinds is entirely different, and has always formed part of the true artistic temperament.