I know which way the wind blows, and how to ward off a sou'-wester." "What shall I say ?" said Blair, taking up the pen, and reaching for the paper.

Derry's hand lay on it, a "paperweight" that did not move itself off at Blair's motion.
"You see," began the sailor, "you see I've got a little daughter, not so old as you are by a year or two.

I dare say you think she's made of coarse stuff like me, fit for the rough and tumble of life.

No such thing.

Her hand is white as a sail on a summer sea, and her little round cheek is so soft, Oh, so soft, that when it snugs up to mine it seems as if an angel was touching me, and I feel as if I wasn't fit for such as her to love and fondle.