“Are you sure he would like it?” said her father. “I thought he never cared to hear of the sea.”
“He can’t bear to talk of it, because it makes him so sorry,” said Susan.
“And,” cried Bessie, “he burnt his dear little ship, the Victory, because he couldn’t bear to look at it after you said that, Papa.”
“After I said what?”
“That he was not smart enough to learn the ropes.”
“Very silly of him,” said the Captain, “to take in despair what was only meant to spur him on. I suppose now I shall find he has dawdled so much that he couldn’t get through an examination.”
This shut up the mouths of both the girls, who were afraid that he might not, since they saw a good deal of his droning habits over his lessons, and heard more of Hal’s superior cleverness.
Miss Fosbrook ventured to say, “You may expect a great deal of a boy who works on a pure principle of obedience.”
“You think a great deal of that youngster,” said the Captain, highly gratified. “It is the first time I ever knew a stranger take to him.”
“I did not take to him as a stranger. I thought him uncouth and dull. I only learnt to love and respect him, as I felt how perfectly I might rely on him, and how deep and true his principles are. If the children have gone on tolerably well in your absence, it is because he has always stood by me, and his weight of character has told on them.”