"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.