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Billy nodded. "You see, Anse, I knowed that sooner or later you was bound to tell Ma, so I played safe, that's all.",

Maurice was climbing a tall poplar standing on the bank of the creek. "I say, Billy," he cried excitedly. "There she is, jest 'round the bend. They've beached her in that piece of woods. It's Joe LaRose an' Art Shipley that took her, I'll bet a cookie. They're always goin' 'cross there to hunt fer turtle's eggs.",

Shipley was a small, wizened man with scant beard and hair. He wheezed a "Hello, Sonny" at Billy, while he packed the tobacco home in his short, black pipe with a claw-like finger.,

Nelson flourished a salutation. Lucy sank in a curtsy that was almost the same as kneeling. Most girls have a favourite hero, and Nelson was her's, and had been her's ever since he came into renown on the glorious St Valentine's Day. Had her father not been fascinated by the figure on the Victory, he might have witnessed the almost magical art with which his daughter had alarmed Mr Lawrence into releasing her, by a brief study of her face as she gazed at the little figure on the deck of the Victory, with his untenanted sleeve secured to his breast, and a smile of acknowledgment on his pale and worn face, seamed about the mouth with wrinkles such as are sometimes seen in persons deformed in the back, or suffering from spinal complaint.

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But how in the world was he ever going to get out of that window with Anson's bed right up against it, and Anson sleeping in the bed? Anson would be sure to hear the ladder when Walter Watland and Maurice Keeler raised it against the wall. He must get Anson up and out of that bed!,

The Admiral might have been observed to be calculating by the movement of his lips. "It will be a run, then," said he, "of about forty days.",

"Bet ye I am.",

"What would they have to say about me?" he exclaimed, with a rather unmeaning smile. "I can believe that Sir William grows weary of my presence, and that he sometimes wishes me at the bottom of the sea. 'Tis a pity that he did so ill in prize money. He was born to no fortune, and married a moneyless lady, and here is my father, an Admiral in the British Navy, obliged to dwell in a cottage fit only to make a dwelling-house for a poet, whose calling is, I believe, the poorest paid of any. I am much troubled," he continued in a maudlin way, "to think that I should continue to be a burthen upon the old gentleman. But I assure you on my honour, madam, if I am[Pg 42] not independent of him this moment 'tis not because I have not been as diligent as Old Nick himself in looking about me. But go where I will and ask where I will, the door is shut, the place is full, the answer is nay. What a sweet little dog is that! How happy to be for ever frisking about you and often lifted and caressed!"