“Oh!” said Dr. May, “that is come on again, is it? I thought that you had forgotten all that.”
“No, papa,” said Harry, with the manly coolness that the sense of his determination gave him—“it was not a mere fancy, and I have never had it out of my head. I mean it quite in earnest—I had rather be a sailor. I don’t wish to get away from Latin and Greek, I don’t mind them; but I think I could be a better sailor than anything. I know it is not all play, but I am willing to rough it; and I am getting so old, it is time to see about it, so will you consent to it, papa?”
“Well! there’s some sense in your way of putting it,” said Dr. May. “You have it strong in your head then, and you know ‘tis not all fair-weather work!”
“That I do; Alan told me histories, and I’ve read all about it; but one must rough it anywhere, and if I am ever so far away, I’ll try not to forget what’s right. I’ll do my duty, and not care for danger.”
“Well said, my man; but remember ‘tis easier talking by one’s own fireside than doing when the trial comes.”
“And will you let me, papa?”
“I’ll think about it. I can’t make up my mind as ‘quick as directly,’ you know, Harry,” said his father, smiling kindly, “but I won’t treat it as a boy’s fancy, for you’ve spoken in a manly way, and deserve to be attended to. Now run down, and tell the girls to put away their work, for I shall come down in a minute to read prayers.”
Harry went, and his father sighed and mused! “That’s a fine fellow! So this is what comes of bringing sick sailors home—one’s own boys must be catching the infection. Little monkey, he talks as wisely as if he were forty! He is really set on it, do you think, Margaret? I’m afraid so!”
“I think so,” said Margaret; “I don’t think he ever has it out of his mind!”
“And when the roving spirit once lays hold of a lad, he must have his way—he is good for nothing else,” said Dr. May.