Picked up at Sea. John C. Hutcheson

      “What?” said Ernest, still looking at Sailor Bill steadfastly, as if trying in vain to summon up the recollection of his features from the hazy depths of his memory; for the face of the boy seemed more and more familiar to him the longer he looked.

      “Well,” replied Mr. Rawlings, with a little hesitation, “I don’t suppose you want to know about the boy merely to satisfy an idle curiosity at seeing the poor, bereaved, young creature to be out of his mind?”

      “Certainly not,” said Ernest Wilton. “What you have already told me, besides his own innocent, guileless look, has interested me strangely in him; and, in addition to that, I’m sure I know something about him or somebody extremely like him, which I cannot at present recall to my recollection.”

      “I believe you honestly,” replied Mr. Rawlings, stretching forth his hand in token of good faith, which the other cordially grasped; “and, that being the case, I can tell you something more, which only Seth Allport and myself know about, and which we have kept to ourselves as a matter of confidence on the poor boy’s behalf. Of course, Captain Blowser of the Susan Jane knows about it, too, as he was entitled to by rights, from having picked the little chap up; but he’s at sea, and it doesn’t matter whether he divulges it or not, as it wouldn’t be of much consequence to the boy; here on land, however, where anybody might track him out from interested or other motives, it is a very different matter; so I must ask you on your word of honour to keep the circumstance to yourself.”

      “Most decidedly,” said Ernest Wilton heartily; “I pledge you my word I will—until, at all events, you think it best, should things so happen, that it ought to be divulged.”

      “All right,” responded Mr. Rawlings, trusting implicitly in the other’s discretion. “Now, I’ll tell you. When I said that the boy had only his shirt and trousers on in the way of garments, and that there was nothing in his pockets to disclose his identity, I related you only the simple truth, for there was nothing to trace him by; and I remember that Captain Blowser, of the Susan Jane, regretted afterwards that the spar to which we found him lashed had been cut adrift, without any one having examined it carefully to see whether there might not have been the name of the ship painted on the yard, or a portion of the canvas, or something else in the top along with the boy—for there was the topmast and yard, and all the gear of the whole mast complete, as if it had been carried away in a moment. But you recollect what I told you, of the boy’s dashing out of the cabin as if he had been taken with a sudden frenzy, and going to rescue Seth Allport when he was swept over the side by the broken topsail-halliards in that squall?”

      “Yes, quite well,” answered Ernest Wilton.

      “Well, after that he fainted away almost dead again for some time; and when I was bending over him trying to rouse him, I noticed a thin silken string round his neck, which I hadn’t noticed previously, nor had Jasper the steward, although his shirt had been opened there, and his bosom bared in our efforts to resuscitate him, when he first took him down into the cabin.”

      “A fine silken string?” repeated the other, as Mr. Rawlings paused for a moment in his recital; “a fine silken string round his neck?”

      “Yes; and on drawing out the end of it I found a small parchment parcel, carefully sealed up with red sealing-wax, and an official kind of stamp over it which had been before concealed in an inside pocket cunningly secreted in the waist-part of the boy’s flannel shirt.”

      “And this parcel contained?” said the young engineer with breathless attention.

      “Ah! that’s what I just don’t know,” said Mr. Rawlings with provoking coolness.