Bessy had for the moment forgotten her brother's condition; she had not realised the constant inconvenience which must follow the loss of an arm. Ned's misfortune did not, however, appear in the least to weigh down his spirits, and he chatted merrily through dinner-time, talking over old days, and then making inquiries as to what hope there might be of his getting such employment as might suit a one-armed man.
"I've heard as how Mr. Curtis, our vicar, is looking out for some one to help with his school," said Dan.
"I think that it must have been your parson who hailed me on my course here," observed Ned.
"He's rather an oldish man, bald, with a little limp in his walk," said Dan.
"That's he!" cried the sailor. "He talked to me friendly enough, and asked me how I had lost my arm."
"And what said you?" inquired Bessy.
"The truth, of course, that I was lubber enough to stumble down into a cellar at night."
"Oh! Ned, he would think that you were drunk," exclaimed Bessy.
"I'm afraid that he did," said Ned. "I could see in his face that I'd let myself down a peg in his good opinion."
"Oh! Uncle, what a chance you lost!" cried Dan, his black eyes twinkling slily under his shock of rough hair. "If I'd been you, I'd have told such a tale, how I lost that arm boarding a thundering big ship, or saving an officer's life, or doing some desperate deed! You'd have been a reg'lar hero in Colme; they'd have been getting up a subscription for you, and Mr. Curtis would have clapped you into the place of teacher at once! 'Twould have been the making of you, it would!"