“I thought my time to speak up had come then, and I told Margery she must take me then or never, and if the captain were willin’ we’d take the baby along with us, until he could do better by it. This pleased her, and she said she’d speak to the master about it. He was glad enough to let ye come with us, for he knew my girl loved ye and would take better care of ye than any stranger. He said he’d pay well for it until ye were old enough to go to school, when he’d take you to some good one to begin yer edication. “Well, Margery and I were married, and went to California to live on a small farm I’d leased, just out of Frisco, which I worked part of the time and let out the rest, at odd jobs, to get a little ready money. The cap shipped all his fine furniture off somewhere to be sold, shut up the house yonder, and left for parts unknown, though for the first two years he came every six months to see how his boy was gettin’ on. After that he didn’t come so often, though he sent money regular. “Ye were the smartest little chap I ever did see. Margery couldn’t have loved ye any better if ye’d been her own, and she made more on ye than I relished, and I got jealous sometimes. We got on finely for three years, then hard times came, the crops didn’t turn out good, odd jobs gave out, and I lay idle for weeks at a time. I wasn’t long gettin’ into bad company those times, and I came home wild with drink sometimes, and Margery would cry and beg me to mend my ways. But I didn’t; and at last she got riled, and threatened to give me the slip, which only made me wicked and sullen. “One night I came home worse than ever—Heaven forgive me! I’d been at the bottle all day long, and the very Old Boy had got into me. I staggered into the house ugly enough for anything. Margery had the table all laid, the kettle was steaming in on the stove, and she was settin’ with yerself in her arms—ye were about five then—laughin’ and playin’ with ye as happy as a cat with one kitten. The sight angered me somehow; I couldn’t get reconciled that we’d no tots of our own, and I gave ye a cuff on the ear with an oath. “Margery sprang up, as mad as a hornet, and shoved ye behind her. “‘Let the child alone, you sot!’ she said. “‘I’ll sot ye!’ I yelled, and pushed her roughly into a chair by the stove. “This roused all yer bad blood, small as ye were. Ye flew at me, peltin’ me with yer little fists that couldn’t have hurt a flea. Ye called me ‘a bad, wicked man,’ ordered me to ‘let Margery alone, or ye’d tell——’ “Ye never finished that sentence, for every word had put me in a worse rage, and I grabbed a stick of wood from the hearth, flung it at ye, and ye dropped without a word, for it hit ye square in the head. “My girl gave a shriek I’ll never forget. “‘Oh, ye drunken wretch!’ she cried. ‘I’ll hate ye all my life if ye’ve killed my darlin’.’