Part 12 (1/2)
”Yes. There--don't cry about her. She was very old, and she died happy.
Now, Capitola, if you please me I mean to adopt you as my own daughter.”
”Yes, father.”
”No, no; you needn't call me father, you know, because it isn't true.
Call me uncle, uncle, uncle.”
”Is that true, sir?” asked Cap, demurely.
”No, no, no; but it will do, it will do. Now, Cap, how much do you know?
Anything? Ignorant as a horse, I am afraid.”
”Yes, sir; even as a colt.”
”Can you read at all?”
”Yes, sir; I learned to read at Sunday-school.”
”Cast accounts and write?”
”I can keep your books at a pinch, sir.”
”Humph! Who taught you these accomplishments?”
”Herbert Greyson, sir.”
”Herbert Greyson! I've heard that name before; here it is again. Who is that Herbert Greyson?”
”He's second mate on the Susan, sir, that is expected in every day.”
”Umph! umph! Take a gla.s.s of wine, Capitola.”
”No, sir; I never touch a single drop.”
”Why? Why? Good wine after dinner, my child, is a good thing, let me tell you.”
”Ah, sir, my life has shown me too much misery that has come of drinking wine.”
”Well, well, as you please. Why, where has the girl run off to!”
exclaimed the old man, breaking off, and looking with amazement at Capitola, who had suddenly started up and rushed out of the room.
In an instant she rushed in again, exclaiming:
”Oh, he's come! he's come! I heard his voice!”
”Whose come, you madcap?” inquired the old man.
”Oh, Herbert Greyson! Herbert Greyson! His s.h.i.+p is in, and he has come here! He always comes here--most of the sea officers do,” exclaimed Cap, dancing around until all her black ringlets flew up and down. Then suddenly pausing, she came quietly to his side and said, solemnly: