"Hello," answered Trot¹, looking up surprised. "Where did you come from?"

 

"Philadelphia," said he.

 

"Dear me," said Trot, "you're a long way from home, then."

 

"'Bout² as far as I can get, in this country," the boy replied, gazing out over the water. "Isn't this the Pacific Ocean?"

 

"Of course."

 

"Why of course?" he asked.

 

"Because it's the biggest lot of water in all the world."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"Cap'n Bill told me," she said.

 

"Who's Cap'n Bill?"

 

"An old sailorman who's a friend of mine. He lives at my house, too—the white house you see over there on the bluff³."

 

"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 complexion⁴, 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 creases⁵, 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

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