"Little ones. But he makes wonderful ones,--and he plays wonderfully, too."
Kirk told him--at great length. He likewise unburdened his heart, which had been steeped so long in loneliness and terror, and recounted the wonder and beauty of Applegate Farm, and Felicia and Ken, and the model ship, and the Maestro's waiting garden, and all that went to make up his dear, familiar world, left so long ago, it seemed.
"But," he said rather mournfully, "I don't know whether I shall ever see any of them again, if we just keep on sailing and sailing. Are you going back to South America again?"
The mate laughed a little. "No," he said. "The _Celestine's_ going to Bedford. We can't put her off her course to drop you at Asquam--harbor's no good, anyhow. My time's up when she docks. I'll take you home."
"Have you always been mate of the _Celestine_?" Kirk inquired.
"I have not," said Mr. Martin. "I signed aboard of her at Rio this trip, to get up into the Christian world again. I've been deckhand and seaman and mate on more vessels than I can count--in every part of the uncivilized world. I skippered one ship, even--pestilential tub that she was."
He fell silent after this speech, longer than any he had made so far.
"Then I'll get home," Kirk said. "_Home_. Can't we let 'em know, or anything? I suppose they've been worrying."
"I think it likely that they have," said the mate. "No, this ship's got no wireless. I'll send 'em a telegram when we dock to-morrow."
"Thank you," said Kirk. Then, after a long pause: "Oh, if you knew how awful it was out there."
The _Celestine_ was bowling into Bedford Harbor with a fair wind. Kirk, in a reefer any number of sizes too large for him, sat on a hatch-coaming and drank in the flying wonder of the schooner's way. He was sailing on a great ship! How surprised Ken would be--and envious, too, for Ken had always longed to sail in a ship. The wind soughed in the sails and sang in the rigging, and the water flew past the _Celestine_ and bubbled away behind her in a seething curve of foam. Mr. Martin stood looking up at the smooth, rounded shape of the main topsail, and whistling the song about the hat which he had lost and so miraculously found. He looked more than usually thoughtful and melancholy.