CHAPTER Sixteen--In Which Sailor Ben Spins a Yarn.
Of course we were all very curious to learn what had befallen Sailor Ben that morning long ago, when he bade his little bride goodby and disappeared so mysteriously.
After tea, that same evening, we assembled around the table in the kitchen--the only place where Sailor Ben felt at home--to hear what he had to say for himself.
The candles were snuffed, and a pitcher of foaming nut-brown ale was set at the elbow of the speaker, who was evidently embarrassed by the respectability of his audience, consisting of Captain Nutter, Miss Abigail, myself, and Kitty, whose face shone with happiness like one of the polished tin platters on the dresser.
"Well, my hearties," commenced Sailor Ben--then he stopped short and turned very red, as it struck him that maybe this was not quite the proper way to address a dignitary like the Captain and a severe elderly lady like Miss Abigail Nutter, who sat bolt upright staring at him as she would have stared at the Tycoon of Japan himself.
"I ain't much of a hand at spinnin' a yarn," remarked Sailor Ben, apologetically, "'specially when the yarn is all about a man as has made a fool of hisself, an' 'specially when that man's name is Benjamin Watson." "Bravo!" cried Captain Nutter, rapping on the table encouragingly.
"Thankee, sir, thankee.

I go back to the time when Kitty an' me was livin' in lodgin's by the dock in New York.

We was as happy, sir, as two porpusses, which they toil not neither do they spin.

But when I seed the money gittin' low in the locker--Kitty's starboard stockin', savin' your presence, marm--I got down-hearted like, seem' as I should be obleeged to ship agin, for it didn't seem as I could do much ashore.

An' then the sea was my nat'ral spear of action.