12 THE FATTED CALF. 



had rushed in upon his mother and been formally 

 introduced to his own sisters, who had grown to 

 unrecognizable dimensions since his departure ; 

 and this grand New England banquet was being 

 given in his honor by neighbors just over the way. 

 The sixteen young people around the table were 

 his old schoolmates. They called him the Prodi- 

 gal ; but well they knew that the boy had come 

 home unstained from his wanderings. With equal 

 pertinence, and not less, they called the turkey a 

 "fatted calf." 



He had perhaps an unusually pleasant way of 

 telling a story, this young sea-rover — a way that 

 has remained with him until this day. He hoists 

 his Blue Peter, heaves up his mud-hook, shakes 

 out his canvas and puts to sea. Nobody tries to 

 help him. He sails over his course as straight as 

 a well-found ship, and he comes into port with a 

 new coat of paint, and pendant flying. 



" Well," said the Prodigal, "if I must, I must. 

 And I'll begin by telling you how the old man put 

 his watch in soak." 



"Stop!" cried the Girl. "I object. This is 

 not to be a story about an old gentleman. What's 

 more, it's not to be told in sailor language. It's 

 to be about yourself " (such a sweet tone as she 

 said " yourself ") " and it's to be told in faultless 



