“No,” replied Trot soberly, “I’m sure he does not expect us to be happy here.  But I’m going to fool him and have just as good a time as I can.”  As she spoke they both turned around—­an easy thing to do with a single flop of their flexible tails—­and Cap’n Bill uttered a cry of surprise.  Just across the room stood a perfect duplicate of himself.  The round head, with its bald top and scraggly whiskers, the sailor cap and shirt, the wide pantaloons, even the wooden leg, each and every one were exact copies of those owned by Cap’n Bill.  Even the expression in the light-blue eyes was the same, and it is no wonder the old sailor stared at his “double” in amazement.  But the next minute he laughed and said, “Why, Trot, it’s me reflected in a mirror.  But at first I thought it was someone else.”

Trot was staring, too.  “Look, Cap’n!” she whispered.  “Look at the wooden leg.”

“Well, it’s my wooden leg, ain’t it?” he inquired.

“If it is, it can’t be a reflection in a mirror,” she argued, “for you haven’t got a wooden leg.  You’ve got a fish’s tail.”

The old sailor was so startled by this truth that he gave a great flop with his tail that upset his balance and made him keel a somersault in the water before he got right side up again.  Then he found the other sailor man laughing at him and was horrified to find the “reflection” advancing toward them by stumping along on its wooden leg.  “Keep away!  Get out, there!” yelled Cap’n Bill.  “You’re a ghost, the ghost o’ me that once was, an’ I can’t bear the sight o’ you.  Git out!”

“Did you ring jes’ to tell me to git out?” asked the other in a mild voice.

“I—­I didn’t ring,” declared Cap’n Bill.

“You did.  You pulled that bell cord,” said the one-legged (one or more lines missing here in this edition)

“Oh, did pullin’ that thing ring a bell?” inquired the Cap’n, a little ashamed of his ignorance and reassured by hearing the “ghost” talk.

“It surely did,” was the reply, “and Sacho told me to answer your bell and look after you.  So I’m a-lookin’ after you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” protested Cap’n Bill.  “I’ve no use fer—­fer ghostses, anyhow.”

The strange sailor began to chuckle at hearing this, and his chuckle was just like Cap’n Bill’s chuckle, so full of merry humor that it usually made everyone laugh with him.

“Who are you?” asked Trot, who was very curious and much surprised.

“I’m Cap’n Joe,” was the reply.  “Cap’n Joe Weedles, formerly o’ the brig ‘Gladsome’ an’ now a slave o’ Zog at the bottom o’ the sea.”

“J—­J—­Joe Wee-Weedles!” gasped Cap’n Bill, amazed.  “Joe Weedles o’ the ‘Gladsome’!  Why, dash my eyes, mate, you must be my brother!”

“Are you Bill Weedles?” asked the other.  And then he added, “But no, you can’t be.  Bill wasn’t no mermaid.  He were a human critter like myself.”

“That’s what I am,” said Cap’n Bill hastily.  “I’m a human critter, too.  I’ve jes’ borrered this fish tail to swim with while I’m visitin’ the mermaids.”