"A pity it are! I was once a horphin myself. Well, yer a spunky little chap to be wantin' to go to sea, and ye deserve somethin' for it. If I were captain I'd take you along; but ye see I'm only afore the mast, and kin do nothin' for ye; but I'll be back some day again, and maybe you'll be bigger then. Here, take this anyhow for a keepsake, and by it you'll remember me till sometime when you see me in port again, and who knows but then I may find a berth for you. So good-bye now! Go home again, like a good boy, and stay there till you've growed a bit." As the kind-hearted sailor said this, he handed me his knife, and turning away, walked back on board his ship, leaving me alone upon the wharf. Wondering at his unexpected kindness, I stood gazing after him till he disappeared behind the bulwarks; and then, mechanically putting the knife in my pocket, I remained for a while without stirring from the spot. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. NOT BIG ENOUGH. My reflections were anything but pleasant, for never had I been so mortified in my life. All my fine dreams of reefing topsails, and seeing foreign lands, had been dissipated in a period of less than ten minutes. All my plans completely frustrated. My first feeling was that of extreme humiliation and shame. I fancied that the passers-by must all be aware of what had transpired, and of the precise situation in which I stood. I saw, moreover, the heads of several of the sailors as they stood looking at me over the bulwarks, and upon their faces I could perceive a derisive expression. Some of them were still laughing loudly. I could bear it no longer, and without hesitation I hurried away from the spot. Near at hand were large boxes, barrels, and bales of merchandise lying upon the wharf. They were not piled together, but scattered about, with spaces between them. Into one of those spaces I glided, and was soon out of sight of everybody, while everybody was equally hidden from my sight. I felt almost as if I had got clear of some danger; so pleasant is it to escape from ridicule, even though one may feel that he has not deserved it. There was a little box among the others, just big enough for a seat, and upon this I sat down, and gave way to reflection. What had I best do? Yield up all thoughts of the sea, and return to the farm, and my crabbed old uncle? You will say that this would have been the wisest course for me to have pursued, as well as the most natural. Perhaps so; but the thought of doing so scarcely entered my mind. I did certainly entertain the thought, but as quickly abandoned it. "No," said I to myself, "I am not yet conquered; I shall not retreat like a coward. I have made one step, and I shall follow it up, if I can. What matters it if they refuse to take me in this big proud ship? There are others in port--scores of others. Some of them may be glad to have me. I shall try them all before I give up my design."