During the war between France and England a frigate sailed from a South American port, on board of which were a Brazilian widow named Maria da Silva and her child Francisca. Her husband had been in the service of the British Government; she herself had become a Protestant, and was now driven by persecution from her home. She was coming to Europe in the hope of finding a brother, her only surviving relative, who had preceded her some years before. The poor woman's health was failing when she came on board. Anxiety and sorrow soon completed the work which disease had begun, and her death drew near. The sailors were very kind to her in their rough way, especially Wat Connor, who was an old messmate of her husband's, and had gone through many hardships and dangers with him. Feeling that her end was near, Maria da Silva expressed to Wat her solicitude respecting her little Francisca, so soon to be left an orphan amongst strangers. Wat at once promised that little "Sisker Silver," as he called her, should never want a friend as long as he lived. The dying woman raised her eyes in grateful acknowledgment of his kindness, and said-- "I have nothing to leave her but this little money. I have a Bible: if you will promise me that she shall learn to read it, I shall die in peace." "She sha'n't want for nothing while I can get it; and as to the book--all right--when she's old enough, I'll see to her tackling it." "And will you read it, too?" said she, earnestly. "I would if I could," said Wat, bluntly; "if it would do you any good, or her either." "Not for her nor me, but for yourself," she said. "Depend on it, kind, dear friend, it will be better to you than bags of gold. This Book helped my husband to bear sickness, meet death, and submit to leave me alone in the world; it has supported me under his loss, and enabled me to see nothing but love in all the troubles I have had; and now, trusting in its promises, I am not afraid to die--not afraid to leave my child. Do believe what I say, learn to read, and make this precious Book your friend--oh, _do_!" "Well, I will--thank'ee," said Wat, taking the book with respect. "I can't say no fairer." Very soon after this the widow was lowered among the waves. Wat immediately took possession of her purse and clothes, which he made into a little bundle for the child; and having stowed that and the Bible safely away, he went to work with his charge, with whom he had become very familiar. With a gravity, importance, and fatherly tenderness, Wat regularly attended to what he called "rigging little Sisky." Perfectly indifferent to the jokes of his companions, he went as methodically through all the ceremonies of the nursery as if he had been "groom of the chamber" or "mistress of the robes." "Where's Wat?" was asked, one morning, when he was busy with Sisky's toilette. "Oh, he's with the child," said a messmate. "What, topping and tailing his gooseberry?" was the reply.