CHAPTER I.

COMING HOME.

"You seem to be weary, my friend," said Mr. Curtis, the vicar of Colme,

stopping courteously to speak to a sailor, who was seated on the stump

of a tree at the side of the pathway. It was a glowing day in August;

the air was hot and sultry, and dust lay thick on the road.

Ned Franks, the sailor, rose on being addressed, and touched his glazed

hat, on which appeared the badge of the anchor, surmounted by a crown,

which showed that he had belonged to the Royal Navy. He was a fine

stalwart-looking young man, scarcely thirty years of age, with sunburnt

cheek, and thick curling hair; and as Mr. Curtis met the glance of his

clear blue eye, the clergyman thought that he had never looked upon a

face more manly or pleasant.

"I've walked twenty miles, sir, since sunrise," said Franks, glancing

at the bundle which he had been carrying on a stick across his

shoulder, and which was now resting against the stump from which he had

risen. "But I'm nigh port now, I take it, if yonder's the village of

Colme."

"Are you going to visit it?" asked the vicar.

"I'm going to drop anchor there for good, sir," answered the tar. "I've

a sister—a step-sister I should say, living yonder; she and I are all

that are left of the family now, and I'll make my home with her, please

God."

"Surely you are too young to give up the navy, my friend. Idleness

would be no blessing to a fine strong lad such as you seem to be; you

may have many years before you yet of good service to the Queen."

"I shall never serve the Queen again, bless her!" replied the young

sailor, with a touch of sadness.

And Mr. Curtis then, for the first time, remarked that the left sleeve

of Ned's blue jacket hung empty.

"But I don't look to be idle, sir," continued Franks, in a tone more

cheerful, "Bessy will have my bit of a pension for the mess and the

berth, and I'll see if I can't make myself useful in some way or

other—go errands, or maybe try the teaching tack; anything would be

better than lying like a log on the shore."

"Teaching?" repeated the clergyman. "What are you able to teach?"

"Not many things," replied the sailor, with a smile, "reading, 'riting,

'rithmetic, and not much of them neither; but I like a book when I can

overhaul one, and I usually make good way with the younkers."

"I well believe that," said Mr. Curtis; "I doubt not that you've many

a good sea story to tell, and stirring adventure to relate. I see,"

he continued, "from the badge on your hat that you've served in the

'Queen;' I daresay that you lost your arm by a Russian ball from a

Sebastopol battery," and the vicar looked with interest at the young

seaman, picturing him at the post of duty amidst the smoke and din of a

fight.

"No, sir," replied Ned, frankly; "I smashed my arm on shore, stumbling

down an open cellar on a starless night."

Mr. Curtis slightly raised his eyebrows, and there was a little less

interest in his manner as he inquired, "And who is the sister with whom

you are to live?"

"Bessy Peele, sir; she's a widow in these parts."

"I know her," said Mr. Curtis, rather drily; "she lives in the thatched

cottage yonder, whose chimney you can just see over these trees. I hope

that she may make you comfortable," he added.

"It's not much, sir, that I want," said the sailor: "a dry berth,

a wholesome mess, and a welcome, he who gets that may be thankful,

whether on sea or on shore."

"I shall call and see you," said the clergyman, kindly, "and have a

little talk with you on other matters than those which concern but this

passing life."

"I shall be heartily glad, sir," replied Ned, again touching his glazed

hat; "it's well to have some one to teach us how to steer 'twixt the

rocks and the shoals."

"I hope that we have both the same port in view," said the clergyman.

"I hope so," answered Ned Franks, cheerfully; and as the vicar bade him

good day, he turned in the direction of his new home.

Mrs. Peele's cottage stood a little retired from the dusty high road,

being divided from it by a bit of waste ground, on which some pigs were

feeding. The ground was overgrown with nettles and straggling briars:

the dwelling was of mud, with a roof of thatch, green with lichen and

moss, under which, as under heavy overhanging brows, peeped two dots of

windows like eyes. The door stood open, and within Ned caught sight of

his sister engaged in washing.

Mrs. Peele was a tall bony woman, with a habitual stoop, clad in a

rusty black dress, with a cap which was rustier still. Broad lines of

grey streaked her hair, and Ned's first feeling was that of painful

surprise at the change which years had made. He did not stop, however,

to dwell on the past.

"Holloa, Bessy! Don't you know me?" he exclaimed, as he quickened his

pace, and the next minute Mrs. Peele had run out, with her bare arms

covered with soap-suds, to welcome her younger brother.

She was followed by a lad about ten or eleven years of age; a sharp,

wiry boy, whose pointed upturned nose, quick little black eyes, and

restless manner, somehow suggested to the sailor's mind the idea of a

weasel. Ned shook him heartily by the hand on hearing that this was his

nephew Dan; and, with a heart glowing with pleasure at being once more

in a home, the seaman entered the cottage accompanied by the Peeles.

"Now, Dan, you take your uncle, and show him his room, while I wring

these out, and get a bit of something ready for dinner," said Bessy. "I

hardly looked for you so early, Ned," she added, addressing herself to

her brother.

"I was up with the lark," answered the sailor.

Dan, looking up with curiosity in his keen small eyes towards the

stranger, whom he scarcely yet ventured to call "uncle," led the way to

the back of the cottage, where was a kind of garden—if a place could

deserve that name where nothing but sickly cabbages seemed to grow,

with a full crop of chickweed and groundsel between. A small wood-house

adjoined the cottage, and over this was a little loft, to be reached by

a rough sort of ladder.

"We're to go up the hatchway, are we?" said Ned, mounting the ladder

with a lightness and rapidity which surprised his nephew. He had to

stoop his curly head low as he passed through the entrance, the door of

which appeared never to have been intended to fit, since even when shut

it admitted as much light as the small one-paned window of greenish

glass, with a thick knob in the middle. The loft was very small, with

walls unpapered, and rafters uncovered; a dirty mattress lay on the

dirtier floor, and a musty scent pervaded the place.

"I can't say much for the berth," thought Ned; "it's not big enough

to swing a cat in, and doesn't look as if the planks had ever been

holystoned. I must set things a little ship-shape. Bessy, poor soul,

has enough to keep her busy with her washing; I must try if I can't

make my one hand do the business of two."

The man-of-war's seaman, accustomed to spotless cleanliness and

neatness, looked around on the miserable den with a mixture of disgust

and good humour.

"I'll rub up the bull's eye," he said, "and get that door to fasten

with something better than a piece of old rope; and I'll try to knock

up a bit of a shelf in that corner, for I've a few books in that bundle

of mine. We'll soon have all right and trim as a captain's cabin!"

Ned Franks was to find that other things in his new home required

setting to rights as well as his loft, and that there are spots and

stains harder to rub out than those on his walls and floor.

"Why don't you keep that garden in trimmer order?" asked the sailor,

as he descended the ladder, followed by Dan. "You might grow enough of

potatoes and cabbages in yon slip to supply your mother half the year."

"I've not a minute's time," answered Dan; "I look after Sir Lacy

Barton's cows."

"Lacy Barton!" repeated Ned. "Why that's the name of one of our

middies."

"Sir Lacy has a son in the 'Queen' as I've heard."

"What are you saying about Sir Lacy?" asked Bessy Peele, catching the

sound of the name, as her brother and Dan re-entered the kitchen.

"That he has a son aboard my old vessel the 'Queen.'"

"That's a piece of luck for us!" cried Bessy, pausing in her occupation

of cutting rashers from a fine large piece of bacon. "He's our

landlord, is Sir Lacy Barton, and he's thinking of pulling down our

cottage to build the new school in its place, and I'm mighty anxious to

be in his favour. 'Tis a lucky chance that you've come, and can tell

him all about his son."

"That depends on what I've to tell," answered Ned, with a smile; "in

some cases, it's 'least said soonest mended.' I hope that none of the

family will come to question me about young Mr. Barton—" and the frank

face of the sailor expressed more than his words, as he remembered the

doings of the most worthless youth on board of the man-of-war.

"Well, if you was asked, you'd say something pleasant I hope," observed

Bessy.

"I could not say what was false," answered Ned.

The words were simple enough, but the decided tone in which they were

uttered, made Bessy exchange glances with her son. The boy shrugged his

shoulders slightly, and something like a smile rose to the corners of

his lips. The very straightforwardness of the sailor made him appear

strange to those who had long mistaken cunning for wisdom, and low

deceit for sharpness.