come among them a perfect stranger, some years before, no one
knew from whence; that he seemed to have some means of support
independent of his boat; and that he was melancholy, silent, and
reserved--as much as possible avoiding all communication with his
neighbours. These particulars only served to whet my boyish curiosity,
and I determined to leave no means untried to penetrate to the bottom of
Douglas' mystery. Let me do myself justice, however: my eagerness to
know his history proceeded from an earnest desire to soothe his sorrow,
whatever it might be, and to benefit him in any way in my power. Day
after day I used to stroll down to the beach, when he was preparing to
get his boat under way, and volunteer to pull an oar on board. At first
he seemed annoyed by my officiousness; and, though he always behaved
with civility, showed, by his impatient manner, that he would rather
dispense with my company; but the constant dripping of water will wear
away a stone, and hard indeed must be the heart that will not be
softened by unremitting kindness. My persevering wish to please him
gradually produced the desired effect--he _was_ pleased, and evinced it
by his increasing cordiality of manner, and by the greater interest
he seemed to take in all my movements. In a short time we became
inseparables, and his boat hardly ever left the shore without me. My
father was not at all adverse to my intimacy with Douglas; he knew him
to be a sober, industrious man, and one who bore an irreproachable
moral character; and as he was anxious that I should strengthen my
constitution as much as possible in the sea-breeze, he thought I could
not roam about under safer or less objectionable protection. On a
further acquaintance with Douglas, I found him a most agreeable
companion; for, when his reserve wore off, his conversation was amusing
and instructive; and he had tales to tell of foreign lands and of
distant seas, which he described with that minuteness and closeness
which only a personal acquaintance with them could have produced. Often,
in the course of his narration, his eye would brighten and his cheek
glow with an emotion foreign to his usual calm and melancholy manner;
and then he would suddenly stop, as if some sound he had uttered had
awakened dark memories of the past, and the gloom clouded his brow
again, his voice trembled, and his cheek grew pale. These sudden
transitions alarmed and surprised me; my suspicions were excited, and I