Nautilus | Page 8

all that went
on. When the Skipper bowed, they bowed; when he smiled, they
grinned; and when he put out his hand to help a woman or a child
aboard, they laid their hands on their hearts, and tried to look like
Franci. The Skipper was their lord and master, and they loved and
feared him, and did his bidding as often as their nature would allow;
but in the depths of their little monkey hearts they cherished a profound
admiration for Franci, and they were always hoping that this time they
were looking like him when they smiled. (But they never were!)
The only other visible member of the crew was a long, lazy-looking
Yankee, whom the Skipper called Rento, and the others plain "Rent,"
his full name of Laurentus Woodcock being more than they could away
with. But it was not to see the crew, neither the schooner (though she
was a pretty schooner enough, as anybody who knew about such
matters could see), that the village had come out; it was to see the
exhibition, and the exhibition was ready for them. An awning was
spread over the after-deck, and under this was arranged with care the
main collection of corals and shells, the commoner sorts, such as found
a ready sale at low prices. There was pure white coral, in long branches,
studded with tiny points, like the wraith of the fairy thorn; there were
great piles of the delicate fan-coral, which the sailors call sea-fans, and
which Franci would hold out to every girl who had any pretence to
good looks, with his most gracious bow, and "Young lady like to fan
herself, keep the sun off, here you air, ladies!" While Laurentus would
blush and hang his head if any woman addressed him, and would

murmur the wrong price in an unintelligible voice if the woman
happened to be young and pretty.
Then there were mushroom corals, so inviting that one could hardly
refrain from carrying them home and cooking them for tea; and
pincushion corals, round and hard, looking as if they had been stolen
from the best bedroom of some uncompromising New England
mermaid. Yes; there was no end to the corals. The lovely white
branches were cheap, and nearly every child went off with a branch,
small or large, dwelling on it with eyes of rapture, seeing nothing else
in the world, in some cases failing to see even the way, and being
rescued from peril of water by the Skipper or Rento. The favourite
shells were the conches, of all sizes and varieties, from the huge
pink-lipped Tritons of the "Triumph of Galatea," down to fairy things,
many-whorled, rainbow-tinted, which were included in the "handful for
five cents" which Franci joyously proclaimed at intervals, when he
thought the children looked wistful and needed cheering up, since they
could not have all they saw.
But the Cypræas were beautiful, too, and of every colour, from white or
palest amber to deep sullen purples and browns that melted into ebony.
These were the shells with voices, that spoke of the sea; many a child
raised them to his ear, and listened with vague delight to the far-away,
uncertain murmur; but not to every child is it given to hear the sound of
the sea, and it may be doubted whether any boy or girl would have
understood what the boy John meant, if he had declared the things that
the shell had said to him.
Where was John? Franci and Rento had charge of the deck exhibition,
but the Skipper kept his station at the head of the gang-plank, and while
courteously receiving his visitors, with a word of welcome for each, he
looked often up the road to see if his little friend was coming. He
thought the gleam of red hair would brighten the landscape; but it came
not, and the Skipper was not one to neglect a possible customer. Now
and again he would touch some one on the arm, and murmur gently, "In
a few moments presently, other exhibition in the cabin, to which I have
the pleasure of invite you. I attend in person, which is free to visitors."

He spoke without accent, the Skipper, but his sentences were
sometimes framed on foreign models, and it was no wonder if now and
then he met a blank stare. He looked a little bored, possibly; these faces,
full of idle wonder, showed no trace of the collector's eager gaze; yet he
was content to wait, it appeared. Mr. Bill Hen Pike judged, from the
way in which everything was trigged up, that the schooner "cal'lated to
make some stay hereabouts;" and the Skipper did not contradict him,
but bowed gravely, and said, "In a few moments, gentleman, do me the