American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"It mout hev been stowed away in one of them crates for safe-keeping,"
he said, musingly, "and washed off the deck o' one o' them Tahiti brigs
goin' down fer oranges. Least-ways, it never got thar from these
parts."
"But it's a miracle its life was saved at all. It must have been some
hours in the water."
"Them brigs lays their course well inshore, and it was just mebbe a
toss up if the vessel clawed off the reef at all! And ez to the child
keepin' up, why, dog my skin! that's just the contrariness o' things,"
continued Joe, in sententious cynicism. "Ef an able seaman had fallen
from the yard-arm that night he'd been sunk in sight o' the ship, and
thet baby ez can't swim a stroke sails ashore, sound asleep, with the
waves for a baby-jumper."
North, who was half relieved, yet half awkwardly disappointed at not
seeing Bessy, ventured to ask how the child was doing.
"She'll do all right now," said a frank voice above, and, looking up,
North discerned the round arms, blue eyes, and white teeth of the
daughter at the window. "She's all hunky, and has an appetite--ef she
hezn't got her 'nat'ral nourishment.' Come, Dad! heave ahead, and tell
the stranger what you and me allow we'll do, and don't stand there
swappin' lies with him."
"Weel," said Trinidad Joe, dejectedly, "Bess allows she can rar that
baby and do justice to it. And I don't say--though I'm her
father--that she can't. But when Bess wants anything she wants it all,
clean down; no half-ways nor leavin's for her."
"That's me! go on, Dad--you're chippin' in the same notch every time,"
said Miss Robinson, with cheerful directness.
"Well, we agree to put the job up this way. We'll take the child and
you'll give us a paper or writin' makin' over all your right and title.
How's that?"
Without knowing exactly why he did, Mr. North objected decidedly.
"Do you think we won't take good care of it?" asked Miss Bessy, sharply.
"That is not the question," said North, a little hotly. "In the first
place, the child is not mine to give. It has fallen into my hands as a
trust,--the first hands that received it from its parents. I do not
think it right to allow any other hands to come between theirs and
mine."
Miss Bessy left the window. In another moment she appeared from the
house, and, walking directly towards North, held out a somewhat
substantial hand. "Good!" she said, as she gave his fingers an honest
squeeze. "You ain't so looney after all. Dad, he's right! He shan't
gin it up, but we'll go halves in it, he and me. He'll be father and
I'll be mother 'til death do us part, or the reg'lar family turns up.
Well--what do you say?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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