house, any way.  One of them, that took care of me most of the time, why, she would even set up half the night with me, and I couldn’t begin to tell you how good-natured she was, an’ she’d look real sorry too.  I used to be ugly, I ached so, along in the first of my being there, but I spoke of it when I was coming away, and she said it was all right.  She used to feed me, that lady did; and there were some days I couldn’t lift my head, and she would rise it on her arm.  She give me a little mite of a book, when I come away.  I’m not much of a hand at reading, but I always kept it on account of her.  She was so pleased when I got so’s to set up in a chair and look out of the window.  She wasn’t much of a hand to talk English.  I did feel bad to come away from there; I ’most wished I could be sick a while longer.  I never said much of anything either, and I don’t know but she thought it was queer, but I am a dreadful clumsy man to say anything, and I got flustered.  I don’t know’s I mind telling you; I was ’most a-crying.  I used to think I’d lay by some money and ship for there and carry her something real pretty.  But I don’t rank able-bodied seaman like I used, and it’s as much as I can do to get a berth on a coaster; I suppose I might go as cook.  I liked to have died with my hurt at that hospital, but when I was getting well it made me think of when I was a mite of a chap to home before mother died, to be laying there in a clean bed with somebody to do for me.  Guess you think I’m a good hand to spin long yarns; somehow it comes easy to talk to-day.”

“What became of your cat?” asked Kate, after a pause, during which our friend sliced away at the porgies.

“I never rightfully knew; it was in Salem harbor, and a windy night.  I was on deck consider’ble, for the schooner pitched lively, and once or twice she dragged her anchor.  I never saw the kitty after she eat her supper.  I remember I gave her some milk,—­I used to buy her a pint once in a while for a treat; I don’t know but she might have gone off on a cake of ice, but it did seem as if she had too much sense for that.  Most likely she missed her footing, and fell overboard in the dark.  She was marked real pretty, black and white, and kep’ herself just as clean!  She knew as well as could be when foul weather was coming; she would bother round and act queer; but when the sun was out she would sit round on deck as pleased as a queen.  There!  I feel bad sometimes when I think of her, and I never went into Salem since without hoping that I should see her.  I don’t know but if I was a-going to begin my life over again, I’d settle down ashore and have a snug little house and farm it.  But I guess I shall do better at fishing.  Give me a trig-built topsail schooner painted up nice, with a stripe on her, and clean sails, and a fresh wind with the sun a-shining, and I feel first-rate.”