He got a passage to Malaga, where he bought a
nice shawl for his wife and a watch for each of his boys. He then went
to the quay, where an American ship was lying just ready to sail for
Boston.
Almost the first man he saw on board was Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowed
him down to the port seven years before. He found that his old neighbor
did not know him, so changed was he with his long beard and Moorish
dress, whereupon, without telling his name, he began to put questions
about his old home, and finally asked him if he knew a Mrs. Matson.
"I rather think I do," said Pelatiah; "she's my wife."
"Your wife!" cried the other. "She is mine before God and man. I am
David Matson, and she is the mother of my children."
"And mine too!" said Pelatiah. "I left her with a baby in her arms.
If you are David Matson, your right to her is outlawed; at any rate she
is mine, and I am not the man to give her up."
"God is great!" said poor David Matson, unconsciously repeating the
familiar words of Moslem submission. "His will be done. I loved her,
but I shall never see her again. Give these, with my blessing, to the
good woman and the boys," and he handed over, with a sigh, the little
bundle containing the gifts for his wife and children.
He shook hands with his rival. "Pelatiah," he said, looking back as he
left the ship, "be kind to Anna and my boys.
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