Bring her down, you and the doctor; she's better'n a pot full o' daisies." The doctor, thus commanded, brought her over in his gig, Jane, beside him, holding the child in her lap.

And Archie helped them out, lifting his good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts and all--the crew standing about looking on.

Some of them knew Jane and came in for a hearty handshake, and all of them knew the doctor.

There was hardly a man among them whose cabin he had not visited--not once, but dozens of times.
With her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless frock, the child, among those big men, some in their long hip boots and rough reefing jackets, looked like some fairy that had come in with the morning mist and who might be off on the next breeze.
Archie had her hugged close to his breast and had started in to show her the cot where he slept, the kitchen where he was to cook, and the peg in the hall where he hung his sou'wester and tarpaulins--every surfman had his peg, order being imperative with Captain Nat--when that old sea-dog caught the child out of the young fellow's arms and placed her feet on the sand.
"No, Cobden,"-- that was another peculiarity of the captain's,--every man went by his last name, and he had begun with Archie to show the men he meant it.

"No, that little posy is mine for to-day.