“Ain’t it a nice place, Nigel?” asked the former, whose kindly spirit had been stirred up to quite a jovial pitch by the gushing welcome he had received alike from old and young.

“It’s charming, father.  Quite different from what you had led me to expect.”

“My boy,” returned the captain, with that solemn deliberation which he was wont to assume when about to deliver a palpable truism.  “W’en you’ve come to live as long as me you’ll find that everything turns out different from what people have bin led to expect.  Leastways that’s my experience.”

“Well, in the meantime, till I have come to your time of life, I’ll take your word for that, and I do hope you intend to stay a long time here.”

“No, my son, I don’t.  Why do ye ask?”

“Because I like the place and the people so much that I would like to study it and them, and to sketch the scenery.”

“Business before pleasure, my lad,” said the captain with a grave shake of the head.  “You know we’ve bin blown out of our course, and have no business here at all.  I’ll only wait till the carpenter completes his repairs, and then be off for Batavia.  Duty first; everything else afterwards.”

“But you being owner as well as commander, there is no one to insist on duty being done,” objected Nigel.

“Pardon me,” returned the captain, “there is a certain owner named Captain David Roy, a very stern disciplinarian, who insists on the commander o’ this here brig performin’ his duty to the letter.  You may depend upon it that if a man ain’t true to himself he’s not likely to be true to any one else.  But it’s likely that we may be here for a couple of days, so I release you from duty that you may make the most o’ your time and enjoy yourself.  By the way, it will save you wastin’ time if you ask that little girl, Kathy Holbein, to show you the best places to sketch, for she’s a born genius with her pencil and brush.”

“No, thank you, father,” returned Nigel.  “I want no little girl to bother me while I’m sketching—­even though she be a born genius—­for I think I possess genius enough my self to select the best points for sketching, and to get along fairly well without help.  At least I’ll try what I can do.”

“Please yourself, lad.  Nevertheless, I think you wouldn’t find poor Kathy a bother; she’s too modest for that—­moreover, she could manage a boat and pull a good oar when I was here last, and no doubt she has improved since.”

“Nevertheless, I’d rather be alone,” persisted Nigel.  “But why do you call her poor Kathy?  She seems to be quite as strong and as jolly as the rest of her brothers and sisters.”

“Ah, poor thing, these are not her brothers and sisters,” returned the captain in a gentler tone.

“Kathy is only an adopted child, and an orphan.  Her name, Kathleen, is not a Dutch one.  She came to these islands in a somewhat curious way.  Sit down here and I’ll tell ’ee the little I know about her.”