from associating with bad companions.

When I found that my poor father was really dead, I stood wringing my
hands and crying bitterly. The sounds of my grief attracted many of the
passers-by; some stopped to inquire its cause, and when they had
satisfied their curiosity they went their way. At last several seamen,
with an independent air, came rolling up near the tent. The leader of
the party was one of the tallest men I ever saw. Though he stooped
slightly as he walked, his head towered above all the rest of the crowd.

"What's the matter with the young squeaker there, mate?" he asked in a
bantering tone, thinking probably that I had broken a toy, or lost a
lump of gingerbread from my pocket.

"His daddy's dead, and he's no one to look after him!" shouted an urchin
from the crowd of bystanders.

"He's in a bad case then," replied the seaman, coming up to me. "What,
lad! is it true that you have no friends?" he asked, stooping down and
taking me by the hand.

"No one but father, and he lies there!" I answered, giving way to a
fresh burst of grief as I pointed to my parent's corpse.

"He speaks the truth," observed the man of the booth; "he has no mother,
nor kith nor kin that I know of, and must starve if no one takes charge
of him, I suspect."

The tall sailor looked at me with an expression of countenance which at
once gained my confidence. "What say you, lad, will you come with us?"
he asked, pointing to his companions; "we'll take you to sea, and make a
man of you!"

"We may get him entered aboard the _Rainbow_, I think, mates," he added,
addressing them. "He'll do as well as the monkey we lost overboard
during the last gale; and though he may be as mischievous now, he will
learn better manners, which Jocko hadn't the sense to do."

"Oh ay! Bear him along with us," replied the other sea men; "he'll be
better afloat, whichever way the wind blows, than starving on shore."

"Come along, youngster, then," said the tall seaman; and, without
waiting for my reply, he seized me by the arm, and began to move off
with me through the crowd.

"But what will be done with poor father? Sure I cannot leave him now!"
I exclaimed, looking back with anguish at my father's corpse.

"Oh, we'll see all about that," answered my new friend; "he shall be
waked in proper style, and have a decent funeral; so you may leave home
with a clear conscience. Never fear!"

I need not dwell longer on the events of that sad