gly and almost at the same time whimpers
appeasingly at the storm-monster outside.

"Father _knows_ the sea," Miss West said to me this afternoon. "He
understands it, and he loves it."

"Or it may be habit," I ventured.

She shook her head.

"He does know it. And he loves it. That is why he has come back to it.
All his people before him were sea folk. His grandfather, Anthony West,
made forty-six voyages between 1801 and 1847. And his father, Robert,
sailed master to the north-west coast before the gold days and was
captain of some of the fastest Cape Horn clippers after the gold
discovery. Elijah West, father's great-grandfather, was a privateersman
in the Revolution. He commanded the armed brig _New Defence_. And, even
before that, Elijah's father, in turn, and Elijah's father's father, were
masters and owners on long-voyage merchant adventures.

"Anthony West, in 1813 and 1814, commanded the _David Bruce_, with
letters of marque. He was half-owner, with Gracie & Sons as the other
half-owners. She was a two-hundred-ton schooner, built right up in
Maine. She carried a long eighteen-pounder, two ten-pounders, and ten
six-pounders, and she sailed like a witch. She ran the blockade off
Newport and got away to the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. And,
do you know, though she only cost twelve thousand dollars all told, she
took over three hundred thousand dollars of British prizes. A brother of
his was on the _Wasp_.

"So, you see, the sea is in our blood. She is our mother. As far back
as we can trace all our line was born to the sea." She laughed and went
on. "We've pirates and slavers in our family, and all sorts of
disreputable sea-rovers. Old Ezra West, just how far back I don't
remember, was executed for piracy and his body hung in chains at
Plymouth.

"The sea is father's blood. And he knows, well, a ship, as you would
know a dog or a horse. Every ship he sails has a distinct personality
for him. I have watched him, in high moments, and _seen_ him think. But
oh! the times I have seen him when he does not think--when he _feels_ and
knows everything without thinking at all. Really, with all that
appertains to the sea and ships, he is an artist. There is no other word
for it."

"You think a great deal of your father," I remarked.

"He is the most wonderful man I have ever known," she replied. "Remember,
you are not seeing him at his best. He has never been the same since
moth