Ned felt the hot blood mounting to his face, and the fiery passion to his heart: there was nothing for it but to beat a retreat, before he should utter as an angry man what as a Christian he might have regretted. Weary as the sailor was, there was something which he felt to be worse than fatigue, and he walked out into the cool fresh evening air, once more to quiet his fevered spirit under the light of the pale young moon.
[CHAPTER V.]
THE LAME SQUIRREL.
REFRESHED by a good night's rest, notwithstanding the discomforts of his new abode, Ned Franks rose on the following morning with a cheerful, thankful heart. He awoke with the verse on his lips—
"I bless the Lord who safe hath kept,
Who did protect me while I slept.
Lord! Grant when I from death awake,
I may of endless life partake!"
Up sprang Ned from his rough bed, ready to forget and to forgive the "breeze" of the preceding day, and to set about his work in the spirit of the command, "whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might."
After his morning prayer, and Bible reading, Ned begun in earnest to set things "ship-shape" in what he called his "little cabin." The loss of his left hand greatly increased the difficulty of labouring, but Ned Franks worked with a will, and therefore with good success. His only interruptions were from the little attentions required by a poor lame squirrel that the sailor had picked up on the previous evening, and which he nursed with the tenderness which seems peculiar to seamen. Ned carried it down with him when he went to breakfast in the kitchen, where he found his sister scarcely yet recovered from her fit of displeasure; but her sulkiness could not stand against the influence of his sunny good-humour.
"Come, Bessy, lass," cried the sailor, "let bygones be bygones, we'll have smooth water to-day. After I've set my cabin to rights, I'll see what's to be done in your garden; if we could only get the ground clear of weeds, it's a fine crop we might look for next year."
Bessy Peele grew so gracious that she not only filled her brother's wooden bowl almost to overflowing with hot bread and milk, but she examined his squirrel with interest, prescribed for its wounded leg, and filled an old basket with hay to make a bed for the sailor's new pet. The poor little creature seemed already to know its master—did not flinch from his hand, and let him warm it within his rough jacket.
"One could never harm a creature that trusted one," said Ned. "I'll nurse the squirrel till its leg is all right, and then give it its freedom again. 'Twould be hard to keep it in limbo, when it might enjoy itself in the woods."