“But did you notice any marks upon her person by which she might be reclaimed?”

“Not I. I only axed Mrs. Maddox whether it were a boy or a girl.”

“How old was she then?”

“Well, how can I tell? that’s not in my way; but the knowing ones in these matters said that she must be about eighteen months old, so we have taken that for a departure as to her age.  I love her now as if she were my own child, and so will you, Tom, like a sister, when you know her.  She calls me her father, and you may do the same, Tom, if you like, for I will be as good as a father to you, if you are as good a boy as you now seem to be, I like to be called father, somehow or another—­it sounds pleasant to my ears.  But come in now, I think you have compassed the compass, so you must learn something else.

“There is another way, Tom,” said Bramble, as he seated himself in his large chair, “in which a smart ’prentice may be useful to his master, and it is of quite as much importance as the compass, which is in heaving the lead.  You see, Tom, the exact soundings being known will often enable a pilot to run over the tail of a bank and save a tide; that is, when he knows that he can trust the man in the chains.  Some seamen are very particular in giving exact soundings, but all are not.  They care more for the song than they do for anything else, and though the song is very musical, yet it won’t get a ship off when she’s on shore.  Now, two-thirds of the seamen who are sent in the chains will not give the soundings within half a fathom, and, moreover, they do not give them quick enough for the pilot in many cases.  If, therefore, you learn to heave the lead well, be correct in your soundings and quick in giving them, you will become of great use to me.  You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes,” replied I.

“Well, go up into my room, and hanging on the nail behind the door you will see a lead-line—­bring it me down here.”

I did so, and then Bramble explained to me how the fathoms were marked on the line, and how the soundings were given out.

“You see,” said he, “wherever there is a mark with a piece of leather or bunting, whether it be white or red, it is called a mark; and if you have five fathoms of water you would cry out by the mark five; but at the other depths there are no marks, but so many knots tied as there are fathoms, as here at nine; and then you would say by the deep nine.  Now run the line through your hand, and see if you can repeat the marks and deeps as they pass.”

I did so.

“Very well.  Now for the song, for there is a sort of tune to it.”  Bramble then again passed the line through his hands, giving the song to each fathom, half-fathom, and quarter-fathom, and making me sing them after him, after which I had to repeat them by myself.  The next day he took out the marks and knots from the whole line, and, giving me a two-foot rule to re-measure it, made me put them all in again.  This I had to repeat three or four times.  By this plan they were fully impressed on my memory; and as for the song, he made me sing it almost every half-hour for three or four days, Bessy generally repeating, in her clear voice, from the back kitchen or upstairs, “and a quarter seven—­by the deep line.”