“You are but a nigger, I know, Neb,” the old seaman got out, “but your heart would do honour to a king.  It’s next to Miles’s, and that’s as much as can be said of any man’s.  Come nearer, boy; none here will grudge you the liberty.”

Little Lucy drew back in an instant, and fairly pulled Neb into the place she herself had just before occupied.

“Bless you for that, young ’un,” said Marble.  “I didn’t know your mother when she was of your age, but I can see that one cat-block is not more like another than you are like what she was at your age; keep that likeness up, my dear, and then your father will be as happy and fortunate in his darter as he has been in his wife.  Well, nobody desarves his luck better than Miles—­Providential luck, I mean, my dear madam Wallingford,” interpreting a sorrowful expression of Lucy’s eyes aright; “for, thanks to your teaching, I now understand there is a divine director of all our fortins, whether ashore, or afloat, black or white.”

“There is not a sparrow falls, Captain Marble,” said the gentle, earnest voice of my wife, “that he does not note it.”

“Yes, so I understand it, now, though once I thought little of such things.  Thus, when we were wracked in the Dawn, Neb, it was by God’s will, and with a design, like, to bring us three all on to our present fortin, and present frame of mind; should I ever use the word luck, ag’in, which I may be likely enough to do from habit, you are all to understand I mean what I call Providential luck.  Yes, madam Wallingford, I comprehend it parfectly, and shall never forget your kindness, which has been to me the best turn of Providential luck that has ever happened.  I’ve sent for you, Neb, to have a parting word, and to give you the advice of an old man before I quit this world altogether.”

Neb began to twist his fingers, and I could see tears glistening in his eyes; for his attachment to Marble was of very long standing and of proof.  When men have gone through, together, as much as we three had experienced in company, indeed, the most trifling griefs of everyday life get to appear so insignificant, that our connection seems to be one of a nature altogether stronger than the commoner ties.

“Yes, sah, Cap’in Marble, sah; what please to be your wish, sah?” asked the negro, struggling to subdue his grief.

“To say a few words of advice, Neb, to take leave of my friends, and then to be struck off the shipping articles of life.  Old age and hard sarvice, Neb, has made me veer cable to the better end.  The stopper is working loose, and a few more surges will leave the hulk adrift.  The case is different with you, who are in your prime,—­and a prime chap be you, on a yard or at the wheel.  My parting advice to you, Neb, is, to hold out as you’ve begun.  I don’t say you’re without failin’s, (what nigger is?) but you’re a good fellow, and as sartain to be found in your place as the pumps.  In the first place, you’re