stared at him a moment and then laughed; and he laughed so rarely
that it distorted the yellow parchment of his face as if it must crack
it. The sound of his laughter was something like the creaking of a cart
imitated by a ventriloquist. But Padre Francesco knit his bushy brows,
for he thought the sailor was making game of him, who had been boatswain
on a square-rigger.

"I went to sea for thirty years," he said, "but I never heard of a
vessel called the _Papa_. You have said a silly thing. I have given you
water to drink, and filled your jar. It is not courtesy to jest at men
older than you."

"Excuse me," answered the man politely. "May it never be that I should
jest at such a respectable man as you seem to be; and, moreover, you
have filled the jar with your own hands. The brigantine was called as I
say. And if you wish to know why, I will tell you. She was built by two
rich brothers of Torre Annunziata, who wished much good to their papa
when he was old and no longer went to sea. Therefore, to honour him,
they called the vessel the _Papa_. This is the truth."

Lest this should seem extravagantly unlikely to the readers of this
tale, I shall interrupt the conversation to say that I knew the _Papa_
well, that "she" was built and christened as the sailor said, and that
her name still stood on the register of Italian shipping a few years
ago. She was not a brigantine, however, but a larger vessel, and she was
bark-rigged; and she was ultimately lost in port, during a hurricane.

"We have learned something to-day," observed Ercole, when the man had
finished speaking.

"It is true," the man said. "And the name of the captain was Don
Antonino Maresca. He was of Vico."

"Where is Vico?" inquired Ercole, idly scratching his dog's back with
the stock of his gun.

"Near Castellamare," answered Padre Francesco, willing to show his
knowledge.

"One sees that you are a man of the sea," said the sailor, meaning to
please him. "And so we thank you, and we go."

Ercole and the old watchman saw the two ragged sailors put off in the
battered boat and pull away over the bar; then they went back to the
shade of the tower and sat down again and refilled their pipes, and were
silent for a long time. Padre Francesco's old wife, who had not shown
herself yet, came and stood in the doorway, nodded to Ercole, fanned
herself with her apron, counted the chickens in sight, and observed that
the weather was hot. Then she went in again