He lives at my house, too--
the white house you see over there on the bluff."
"Oh; is that your home?"
"Yes," said Trot proudly. "Isn't it pretty?"
"It's pretty small, seems to me," answered the boy.
"But it's big enough for mother and me, an' for Cap'n Bill," said
Trot.
"Haven't you any father?"
"Yes, 'ndeed. Cap'n Griffith is my father, but he's gone most of the
time, sailin' on his ship. You mus' be a stranger in these parts,
little boy, not to know 'bout Cap'n Griffith," she added, looking at
her new acquaintance intently.
Trot wasn't very big herself, but the boy was not quite as big as
Trot. He was thin, with a rather pale complexion, and his blue eyes
were round and earnest. He wore a blouse waist, a short jacket, and
knickerbockers. Under his arm he held an old umbrella that was as
tall as he was. Its covering had once been of thick, brown cloth,
but the color had faded to a dull drab except in the creases, and
Trot thought it looked very old-fashioned and common. The handle,
though, was really curious. It was of wood and carved to resemble an
elephant's head. The long trunk of the elephant was curved to make a
crook for the handle. The eyes of the beast were small red stones,
and it had two tiny tusks of ivory.
The boy's dress was rich and expensive, even to his fine silk
stockings and tan shoes, but the umbrella looked old and
disreputable.
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