“And you mean it seriously, Harry?”
“Yes, of course I do, really and truly; and if it is to come to pass, it is time to take measures. Don’t you see, Margaret?”
“It is time, as you say,” answered Margaret reflectingly, and sadly surveying the bright boy, rosy cheeked, round faced, and blue eyed, with the childish gladsomeness of countenance, that made it strange that his lot in life should be already in the balance.
“I know what you will all tell me, that it is a hard life, but I must get my own living some way or other, and I should like that way the best,” said he earnestly.
“Should you like to be always far from home?”
“I should come home sometimes, and bring such presents to Mary, and baby, and all of you; and I don’t know what else to be, Margaret. I should hate to be a doctor—I can’t abide sick people; and I couldn’t write sermons, so I can’t be a clergyman; and I won’t be a lawyer, I vow, for Harvey Anderson is to be a lawyer—so there’s nothing left but soldiers and sailors, and I mean to be a sailor!”
“Well, Harry, you may do your duty, and try to do right, if you are a sailor, and that is the point.”
“Ay, I was sure you would not set your face against it, now you know Alan Ernescliffe.”
“If you were to be like him—” Margaret found herself blushing, and broke off.
“Then you will ask papa about it?”