“Couldn’t do better,” he agreed.  “You’ve a good two hours afore dusk, an’ she’s a proper dictionary on taps an’ drainage.”

“Please you to come along, sir.”  The child waited respectfully while Captain Cai arose, picked up his hat, and bade his host “So long!” He followed her downstairs.

Their way to the street lay through the shop, and by the rearward door of it she paused to reach down her hat and small jacket.  The shop was long, dark, intricate; its main window overshadowed by the bulk of the Town Hall, across the narrow alley-way; its end window, which gave on the Quay, blocked high with cheeses, biscuit-tins, boxes of soap, and dried Newfoundland cod.  Into this gloom the child flung her voice, and Captain Cai was aware of the upper half of a man’s body dimly silhouetted there against the panes.

“Daddy, I’m going out.”

“Yes, dear,” answered the man’s voice dully.  “For an hour, very likely.  This gentleman wants to see his new house, and I’m to show it to him.”

“Yes, dear.”

“You’ll be careful, won’t you now?  Mrs M—­fus’ll be coming round, certain, for half-a-pound of bacon; And that P—­fus girl for candles, if not for sugar.  You’ve to serve neither, mind, until you see their money.”

“Yes, dear.  What excuse shall I make?” The man’s voice was weary but patient.  The tone of it set a chord humming faintly somewhere in Captain Cai’s memory:  but his mind worked slowly and (as he would have put it) wanted sea-room, to come about.

They had taken but a few steps, however, when in the narrow street, known as Dolphin Row, he pulled up with all sail shaking.

“That there party as we passed in the shop—­”

“He’s my father,” said the child quickly.

“And you’re Tabb’s child. . . .  You don’t tell me that was Lijah Tabb, as used to be master o’ the Uncle an’ Aunt?”

“I don’t tell you anything,” said the child, and added, “he’s a different man altogether.”

“That’s curious now.”  Captain Cai walked on a pace or two and halted again.  “But you’re Tabb’s child,” he insisted.  “And, by the trick of his voice, if that wasn’t Lijah—­”

“His name is Elijah.”

“Eh?” queried Captain Cai, rubbing his ear.  “But I heard tell,” he went on in a puzzled way, searching his memory, “as Lijah Tabb an’ Rogers had quarrelled desp’rate an’ burnt the papers, so to speak.”

“’Twas worse than that.”  She did not answer his look, but kept her eyes fixed ahead.

“Yet here I find the man keepin’ shop for Rogers:  and as for you—­if you’re his daughter—­”

“I’m in service with Mr Rogers,” said Fancy, who as if in a moment had recovered her composure.  “If you want to know why, sir, and won’t chat about it, I don’t mind tellin’ you.”

“You make me curious, little maid:  that I’ll own.”

“‘Tis simple enough, too,” said she.  “He’s had a stroke, an’ he’s goin to hell.”