“Who shall say?” replied the Skipper.  “Perhaps—­” He said no more, but raised his hand with a gesture that was solemn enough; and Mr. Bill Hen Pike decided that he was beyond doubt a madman.  But now the Skipper dropped his tone and attitude of smiling ease, and, throwing away his cigar, stood upright.  “Enough, Senor!” he said.  “You are a good man, but you have not the courage.  Now, you shall see Colorado.”  He turned toward the cabin and called:  “Colorado, my son, come to me!” Then, after a pause, “He sleeps yet.  Rento, bring to me the child!” Rento, who had been hovering near, lending a careful ear to all that was said, now vanished, and reappeared, bearing the boy John in his arms.  The child was but newly awake, and was still rubbing his eyes and looking about him in bewilderment.

“Colorado, the Senor Pike, already well known to you!” said the Skipper, with a graceful wave of the hand.  “Your guardian, the old gentleman Scraper, desires of our company at breakfast.  How then, son of mine?  Shall we go, or shall I keep you here, and bid Sir Scraper find his way to the devil, which will be for him little difficult?” He smiled on the boy, and took his hand with a caressing gesture.

Little John heaved a great sigh, and the cares of the world floated from him like a summer cloud.  “Oh, I knew it!” he cried, smiling joyously up into his friend’s face.  “I knew it all the time, or almost all!  You never meant anything but fun, did you? and we will go back, won’t we?  And we shall feel all right inside, and things will not sit—­I—­I mean nothing will feel bad any more.  I—­I can’t say all I mean,” he added, rather lamely, “because I had thoughts in the night; but we will go now, you and I, you and I!”

* * * * *

As they approached the gate, John stopped a moment, and looked up at his companion.  “Would you mind holding my hand?” he asked.  “I am all right in my mind, but I think I am rather queer in my legs; I think I should feel better if I held the hand of—­of somebody who wasn’t little, or—­or weak.”

Oh, the strong, cordial pressure of the big, brown hand! how it sent warmth and cheer and courage through the little quivering frame!  John was all right in his mind, as he said, but his body felt already the stinging blows of the cane, his ears rang already with the burning words of rage and spite.

“But it is the inside that matters!” said John, aloud; and he shut his eyes and went into the house.

“Good-morning, gentleman,” the Skipper began, always at his courteous ease.

“I have to ask your forgiveness, that I carry off yesterday our young friend here.  You were not at house, I desired greatly of his company; I have the ways of the sea, waiting not too long for the things I like; briefly, I take him away.  That I bear the blame of this is my desire.  And now, shall we pleasantly converse, ha?”

He seated himself, drew the boy between his knees, and looked Mr. Scraper squarely in the eyes.  Now, Mr. Scraper did not like to be looked at in this manner; he shifted on his chair, and his mouth, which had been opened to pour out a flood of angry speech, closed with a spiteful snap, and then opened, and then closed again.