Chapter XV: 'i Want to Dream That Dream Again.'

The baby sealkin became a great pet on board and a kind of bond of union between Ben and Lotty. This sailor wasn't much over sixteen, just young enough still to delight in a game of make-believe. So he was papa and Lotty was mamma to young Norlans. And without a doubt, Norlans was the sweetest and the prettiest and the best-behaved baby that ever lived, and boy and girl nursed it time about--that is, when Ben's watch wasn't on deck Norlans's fur was so long that it had to have a bib when it was being fed. There wasn't a cow on board, but there were lots of condensed milk and gulls' eggs, and a sop was made of these, which his little lordship condescended to suck up as long as Lotty kept a finger in his mouth and his nose in the bowl, but no longer. But he also had fresh fish, for they got becalmed on a sandbank, which no doubt had been an island once upon a time in the world's history, and Norlans's daddy got out his lines, and, baiting his hooks with only little tufts of gulls' white feathers, soon caught a tubful. The small ones were all kept alive to feed Norlans, and the pretty mite seemed to grow in strength and even size every day after this.

As the captain's wife was fond of pets of all kinds she made no objection to Lotty's taking Norlans down to the saloon and to the stateroom or sleeping-cabin every night. The latter was occupied now only by Mrs Skipper--as the men called her--and our heroine, Ben having been banished forwards, so that the mate had his bunk, and Paterson had the mate's cabin.

It is a fine thing for a sea-captain to be allowed to take his wife with him. It is romantic too, and makes a honeymoon last for years, if not for ages. Before getting spliced, which he was wise enough not to do until he was a full-blown master-mariner, Paterson had always looked forward to having his Maggie with him at sea. It had been the dream of his life, and lo! it was fulfilled, the fact being that the sailor had worked out its fulfilment. When visiting his _fiancée_ while only a mate he used to sing to her snatches of an old song which I have almost forgotten; but one verse runs through my brain as I write:

Here in my proud ship
Upon the waters wide,
I roam with a glad heart,
Maggie's by my side;
My own love, Maggie dear,
Sitting by my side;
Maggie dear, my own love,
Sitting by my side.

Well, Norlans had any amount of nursing and really appeared to like it. If Lotty put him down on the quarterdeck he used to make the most ungainly efforts to waddle after her, often rolling over on his broad back in a very ridiculous attitude. He liked to be scratched under the chin and beneath the ear. He liked better to be nursed by his ma than his daddy; for when Lotty would say to Ben, 'Here, papa, you take Norlans for a bit,' the mite would roll those marvellous eyes of his round at the rough boy, then back pleadingly towards the gipsy lass's face; and if she said, 'Well, well, then, he sha'n't be taken by daddy,' he would nestle closer to Lotty, and soon be fast asleep. As Ben said, he could do with bucketfuls of sleep.

With fur four inches deep, one wouldn't have thought Norlans could have felt cold at night; but he was not averse, nevertheless, to be put to bed in his small tub rolled up in a red blanket. Then Lotty would sit down on a footstool beside him, and sing a cradle-song till he dropped off into 'little sweet snores' as she called them, and he never stirred till morning. Was he not, therefore, the best baby that ever lived?

The days were very short up north in these seas. A steamer would have been into her port long ago; but the _Nor'lan' Star_ had to wait for the wind. Only, Lotty rather liked the length of the voyage than otherwise. By the time Saturday came round she had been nearly a week on board. Well, the skipper was fond of old-fashioned seaways, so he was wont to splice the main brace on this night, which means that all hands have extra grog and spend the evening singing and yarning and drinking to wives and sweethearts.

But Lotty had put Norlans to bed early, and was going herself soon after she had a warm bath. It was while assisting her that Mrs Paterson made a discovery which caused her to start and turn first red and then pale.

'Dear Mrs Captain, you're not ill, are you?'

'Oh no,' said the good lady, 'only a momentary spasm. Now it is gone.'

There was electric light in this cabin, which was really one of the prettiest staterooms any master-mariner could have wished to have. Of course his wife was the presiding genius; but without being at all overcrowded, because all the fittings were of fairy-like dimensions, it was really home-like and charming. Besides, a dear wee brass-domed stove burned cheerily in a corner, and altogether it was as much like the interior of a caravan as anything else.

To-night, after Lotty had got into her dressing-gown and hammock-socks, Mrs Paterson sat down on a low rocking-chair close to the fire, and took her on her knee. And there was a nice drink for both of them keeping hot on the stove-top, so one may easily guess they were cosy.

The skipper and mate were smoking and yarning outside in the saloon; but from the stateroom their voices sounded only like the happy murmur of the sea on a summer's beach.

What was the discovery the good lady had made? It was a birth-mark--nay, but two. And although such marks might be similar on two different people, so strange a coincidence has never, perhaps, been known. And so Mrs Skipper thought she knew now some secret of Lotty's history that the child herself was ignorant of.

A rocking-chair at sea is a delightful contrivance when the weather is fine, as it was to-night, and this one was swayed or swung only by the vessel's gentle motion. It is a dreamy, drowsy movement; but there was no thought of sleep in Lotty's mind at present, nor in Mrs Paterson's. Lotty would have preferred to listen to a story or to hear a song.

'Sure I'm not too heavy, nursie?'

'Oh no,' was the answer, 'you are very light. Besides, darling, it is not the first time that'---- Then she checked herself, and Lotty undertook to finish the sentence.

'Not the first time you've nursed a little girl, you were going to say.'

'Ye-es,' assented the other.

Lotty snuggled closer to her.

'I wish you were my mother. But I never had a mother, never, never, _never_. May I call you mammy?'

'You may call me mammy.'

Lotty had not seen that tear. This strange child had her sentimental moments, and had come through grief enough, goodness knows; but somehow mirth was never far away from sorrow.

'So now,' she cried, 'I have a ma, and Norlans has a grandma.'

'Lotty, think now,' said Mrs Skipper, 'were you always, always a little gipsy lass? Think back child.'

The girl sat up more, to look the better at the kindly face and eyes.

'Always,' she said slowly. 'Only,' she added, 'there have been times when, if I happened to be in the house of some rich and beautiful lady, reading her palm you know, mammy, I've thought it strange that many things I saw, which most gipsy girls might not have known the use of, were to me quite familiar.'

'Yes?'

'The first harp I saw did not seem to have been the first. When asked to play the piano, nothing about it struck me as new, and I felt familiar with even the smallest of my drawing-room surroundings.'

'Yes?'

'But I know how to account for all that.'

'Well, dear?'

'It all comes, mammy, of reading books of romance and stupidity; and some such stories I quite believed when quite a little tot, especially about the baronet's baby-boy who was stolen by a bad sweep, and who, years and years afterwards, was called to a great house to sweep chimneys and found his real mother, and lived happy ever after. But I'm wiser now, mammy dear. Now, mammy, will you do the first thing I ask you?'

'Yes, child.'

'Well, look there! I've finished my nice drink, and now sing me a song, and I'll fall as sound asleep as your grandchild Norlans. Then don't wake me, but just lift me into bed.'

Mammy had a sweet voice, and knew also how to modulate it, so softly, tenderly she sang:

O safely sleep, my bonnie, bonnie bairn,
Rock'd on this breast o' mine,
The heart that beats sae sair within
Will not, will not awaken thine.
Lie still, lie still, ye cankered thochts,
That such late watches keep,
And if ye break the
]

mother's rest, Yet let, yet let my baby sleep. ]

Sleep on, sleep on, my ae ae bairn,
Nor look sae wae on me,
As if ye felt the bitter tear
That blin's thy mammie's e'e.
Dry up, dry up, ye saut, saut tears,
Lest on my bairn ye dreep,
And break in silence, waefu' heart,
And let my baby sleep.

If you know it not, oh reader! take lute or viol and learn it.

At the second verse Lotty had really dropped off to sleep; but as the last words died in cadence soft and sad away she started and shook back her yellow hair. Her open eyes had a strange wildness in them.

'Where--oh, where am I?'

Then she smiled and seemed to recover consciousness wholly; but she squeezed mammy's arm against her chest with a vice-like grip as she gazed into her face.

'Mrs Captain,' she cried, 'mammy then, I've had such a strange, strange dream. I thought--but never mind, only tell me this: Did you ever sing that strange song to me before? I have never heard it, and yet, mammy, I _have_. How is that? Can you explain?'

Mammy did not reply at once.

'I think--I--can--Lotty, child,' she answered slowly. Then more quickly, 'Oh yes, dear, when you have been asleep, I dare say I did sing it to myself, and you have half-heard me.'

'Yes, mammy, yes. That must be the explanation. But now, kiss me and put me to bye-bye. I want to dream that dream again.'