"What were you crying for, my lass?" he said aloud.
"Ah, sir!" replied Ellen, "I don't mind telling you. I was looking down at baby, and thinking that when she is old enough to understand things--and baby is very quick, and almost understands already, don't you, my pet?--she will hear such stories from ill-natured people about father, as will make her as unhappy as her poor mother is. When I thought that, sir, I began to cry, and was almost wicked enough to believe that it would be better for both of us to die than to live amongst such bad-hearted people."
The Old Sailor did not stop long, but walked away in profound thought.
Soon after that, another misfortune occurred. George Marvel told them that he had left his situation. "I gave it up of my own accord, Maggie," he said to his wife, to whom he first spoke upon the subject; "If I hadn't, I should have done something that would have made the master give me warning, and I should have been disgraced. I can't make sure of myself now; my blood boils up so when I hear a word dropped about Josh, that every thing swims before my eyes. I can't help it, my dear. Don't blame me."
She did not blame him, but said she was sure he had done what he thought was for the best.
"I've worked in the shop, man and boy, for more than thirty years," he said huskily, "and I doubt if I shall get another. Trade's overdone. A good many men are out, and I'm not as young as I was. I don't quite see the end of it, Maggie."
She cheered him and comforted him, and he went out the next morning in search of work, feeling very much ashamed of himself. It was like begging. He came home disheartened and footsore, and hadn't a cheerful word or look for any one. "A nice ending this is!" he said bitterly. "But I brought it all on myself. I shouldn't have driven our boy to sea." He seemed to think it was nothing but strict justice that he should take all the blame upon himself. He earned so little money, that presently he had to break into Joshua's legacy to him and Dan, and it began to melt like magic. Things were getting very bad. The dressmaking work, too, was slackening, and Susan and Ellen had many idle days.
Solomon Fewster observed all this with inward satisfaction, although outwardly he sympathized with them, and was profuse in his offers of assistance. But they would not accept any thing from him; and very soon the proceeds of the birds he continued to purchase from Dan became their most dependable source of revenue. Notwithstanding that he was careful never to say a word of the past that would be distasteful to them, he did not make much way in their good graces. They did not show this, however; he was consistent in his offers of assistance and in his friendly behavior, and they could not show ingratitude; but their instincts were against him. He allowed a year to pass before he spoke to Ellen of his love for her, and even then he thought it best first to make sure of the co-operation of her friends. He addressed himself in the first place to George Marvel, who opened his eyes very wide, and was indeed very much astonished at Mr. Fewster's declaration. He had never suspected that Mr. Fewster had an attachment for Ellen.
"I loved her before she was married," said Mr. Fewster to him; "but then I saw that she loved your poor son, and I was too honorable to interpose. So I did not distress her by telling her of my love."
Mr. Marvel thought that that was manly and straightforward, but asked Mr. Fewster why he spoke to him upon the subject.