The Pilot's Daughter [pp. 41-64]

1882.] THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 41
THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER.
AT the head of a long, winding creek which opens into a
broader one called Hutchinson's Creek there stood during the
Revolution a plain log-cabin inhabited by Robert Reed, better
known in the township of East Chester as Captain Bob. Even
to-day this is a secluded spot. But a century ago the primeval
forest came almost to the water's edge and formed a semicircle
round about it; on some of the trees marks of Indian tomahawks
were still visible, and it was difficult to believe that the city of
New York was only fifteen miles away.
But Captain Bob, who had spent his best years piloting vessels up and down the Sound, was now old and blind; he cared
not how retired his home was, provided only his dear Phebe were
near him. And Phebe loved him as tenderly as ever daughter
loved her father. There were prettier girls than she in East
Chester. Her complexion was bronzed by exposure to the sun,
her hands were not so soft and delicate as they might have been,
wbile her nose was decidedly tip-tilted toward the sky. But her
eyes, which were the color of the deep blue sea, were the brightest and merriest eyes you had ever looked into, and her healthy,
well-developed figure made her a worthy offspring of the tough
old pilot.
"This is your birthday, child. To-day you are twenty-five,"
spoke Captain Bob one April m~rning in`777, after Phebe had
ensconced him in a high-backed chair on the porch where the
early sunbeams might fall upon him.
"Yes, twenty-five," answered Phebe cheerily: she knew not
what it was to be otherwise than cheerful.
Well, child, stay with me as long as you can. Plenty of
time to settle down-plenty of time." "I will stay with you
always," said Phebe. "Why, where could I be happier than
here with you in this sweet, sweet home?"
"Ay, close by tide-water," continued her father.
"And where I can smell the salt meadows, which I like ten
times better than clover-fields," said Phebe, drawing in a full
breath of bracing air wafted from the creek. "But these are
gloomy days; have you heard any news?" inquired the pilot.
"Some Skinners rode into the village last evening and broke
Nat Hunt's windows," answered Phebe-" for you know that