The Skipper observed these fish-like snappings with grave attention.  At length,—­

“Who are you, I should like to know?” the old man cried in an angry twitter.

“Why in—­why do you come meddling here, and carrying off boys from their lawful guardeens, and talking folderol, and raising Ned generally?  I’ve seen skippers before, but I never heered of no such actions as these, never in my days!  Why, no one here so much as knows your name; and here you seem to own the hull village, all of a sudden.  You, John,” he added, with a savage snarl, “you go about your business, and I’ll see to you afterwards.  I reckon you won’t go out again without leave for one while!”

The child started obediently, but the strong hand held him fast.

“Quiet, Colorado,” said the Skipper.  “Quiet, my son!  Time enough for the work, plenty time!  I desire you here now, see you.”  Then he turned once more to the old man.

“You have, I already say, a beautiful name, Sir Scraper,” he said with cheerful interest.  “Endymion! a fine name, truly—­of poetry, of moonlight and beauty; you have had great joy of that name, I cannot doubt?”

“What’s my name to you, I should like to know?” retorted Mr. Scraper, with acrimony.  “This aint the first time you’ve took up my name, and I’ll thank you to leave it alone!  You let go that boy, or I’ll let you know more ’n you knew before.”

“Perfectly!” said the Skipper.  “Attend but a moment, dear sir.  Let us pursue for a moment thoughts of poetry!  Such a name as Endymion proves a poetic fancy in the giver of it; at a guess, this was your lady mother, now probably with the saints, and if others so fortunate as to belong to your family, surely this excellent lady would have given to them, also, names of soul, of poetry!  If there was a sister, for example, would she be named Susan?  No!  Jane?  Never!  Find me then a name!  Come! at a venture.  Zenobia?  Aha! what say you?”

He leaned forward, and his glance was like the flash of a sword.  The child looked in wonder from one to the other; for the old man had sunk back in his chair, and his jaw had fallen open in an ugly way, and altogether he was a sad object to look at.

“What—­what d’ye mean?” he gasped, after a moment.  But the Skipper went on, speaking lightly and cheerfully, as if talking of the weather.

“What pleasure to bring before the mind a picture of a family so charming!  Of you, dear sir, in your gracious childhood, how endearing the image! how tenderly guarded, how fondly cherished here by your side the little sister?  Ah! the smiling picture, making glad the heart!  This sister, Zenobia, let us say, grows up, after what happy childhood with such a brother needs for me not to say.  They are three, these children,—­how must they love each other!  But one brother goes early away from the home!  In time comes for Zenobia, as to young maidens will come, a suitor, a foreigner, shall we say? a man, like myself, of the sea?  May it not have been possible, dear sir?”