Little Ellen had been the first guest, and by special invitation.

“All ready, Miss Jane, for you and the doctor and the Pond Lily; bring her down any time.  That’s what kind o’ makes it lonely lyin’ shut up with the men.  We ain’t got no flowers bloomin’ ’round, and the sand gits purty white and blank-lookin’ sometimes.  Bring her down, you and the doctor; she’s better’n a pot full o’ daisies.”

The doctor, thus commanded, brought her over in his gig, Jane, beside him, holding the child in her lap.  And Archie helped them out, lifting his good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts and all—­the crew standing about looking on.  Some of them knew Jane and came in for a hearty handshake, and all of them knew the doctor.  There was hardly a man among them whose cabin he had not visited—­not once, but dozens of times.

With her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless frock, the child, among those big men, some in their long hip boots and rough reefing jackets, looked like some fairy that had come in with the morning mist and who might be off on the next breeze.

Archie had her hugged close to his breast and had started in to show her the cot where he slept, the kitchen where he was to cook, and the peg in the hall where he hung his sou’wester and tarpaulins—­ every surfman had his peg, order being imperative with Captain Nat—­when that old sea-dog caught the child out of the young fellow’s arms and placed her feet on the sand.

“No, Cobden,”—­that was another peculiarity of the captain’s,—­every man went by his last name, and he had begun with Archie to show the men he meant it.  “No, that little posy is mine for to-day.  Come along, you rosebud; I’m goin’ to show you the biggest boat you ever saw, and a gun on wheels; and I’ve got a lot o’ shells the men has been pickin’ up for ye.  Oh, but you’re goin’ to have a beautiful time, lassie!”

The child looked up in the captain’s face, and her wee hand tightened around his rough stubs of fingers.  Archie then turned to Jane and with Tod’s help the three made a tour of the house, the doctor following, inspecting the captain’s own room with its desk and papers, the kitchen with all its appointments, the outhouse for wood and coal, the staircase leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and at the very top the small ladder leading to the cupola on the roof, where the lookout kept watch on clear days for incoming steamers.  On their return Mulligan spread a white oil-cloth on the pine table and put out a china plate filled with some cake that he had baked the night before, and which Green supplemented by a pitcher of water from the cistern.