“Ya-a-ow!” snarled Mr. Patton. It sounded almost as much like “no” as “yes,” but Grandmother did not heed it much. She had dropped lightly into the chair, and was looking at a picture that hung opposite the bed; a colored lithograph of a ship under full sail. The workmanship was rough and poor, but the waves were alive, and the ship moved. “I like that!” said Grandmother softly. “I never saw the sea, but I knew a sailor once.” She began to sing very softly, hardly above her breath. “There were two gallant ships Put out to sea. Sing high, sing low, and so sailed we. The one was Prince of Luther and the other Prince of Wales; Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbarie; Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbarie.” “Who taught you that?” growled Parker Patton. “A sailor; his name was Neddard, Neddard Prowst. He came—” The sick man started up on his elbows. “Neddard Prowst! he was a shipmate of mine; we sailed together three years, and if I hadn’t come ashore like a grass-fool we might be sailing yet. Where did you see Neddard, young woman?” “In the mountains. He came ashore; he thought he would like mining, but he didn’t. He was always longing for the sea.” “Ah! I’ll lay my cargo he was. All seamen have their foolish times. I thought I was tired of the sea; all I wanted in the world was to lay under a tree and eat apples, day after day. Well—here I lay, and serve me right. What about Neddard, young woman?” “He was very good to me,” she said. “He liked me to sit with him when he was sick; he died a little before I came here. He taught me all the songs. Do you remember, now, this one? “Hilo, heylo, Tom was a merry boy, Hilo, heylo, Run before the wind! Heave to, my jolly Jacky, Pipe all for grog and baccy, Hilo, heylo, Run before the wind!” “Ay! many’s the time! did he learn you ‘Madagascar’? hey, what?” Grandmother, for all reply, sang again: “Up anchor, ’bout ship, and off to Madagascar! Cheerily, oh, cheerily, you hear the boat-swain call. Don’t you ship a Portagee, nor don’t you ship a Lascar, Nor don’t you ship a Chinaman, the worst of them all! “Up foresail, out jib, and off to Madagascar, Call to Mother Carey for to keep her chicks at home. Ship me next to Martinique, or ship me to Alaska, But Polly’s got my heart at anchor, ne’er to roam.” By and by when poor Mrs. Patton ventured to put her timid head inside the door, she kept it there, too astonished to move. Parker lay back on his pillows with a look such as she had not seen for many a long day. His thin hands were beating time on the coverlet, and he and Grandmother were singing together: “Silver and gold in the Lowlands, Lowlands, Silver and gold in the Lowlands low; On the quay so shady I met a pretty lady, She stole away my heart in the Lowlands low.