“No! The Admiral did take notice of Hal; and one day when I was slow at a proposition, my father said I was too block-headed to beat navigation into, and that Hal is a smart fellow, worth two of me. I know he is! I know that; only if he would not make such an intolerable crowing—”
“Then you wish it very much?”
“Wish it! Of course I do. Why, my father is a sailor; and I remember the Fury, and I saw the Calliope—his ship that he had in the war time. Before I was as big as little George I always thought I should be a sailor. And now if Papa goes out with Admiral Penrose, and Hal too—oh! it will be so horrid home!”
“But can’t you both go?”
“No; my father said he couldn’t ask to have two of us put down, unless perhaps some younger one had a chance by and by. And Hal is the sharpest, and does everything better than I can when he has a mind. My father says, among so many all can’t choose; and if this place is to be mine, Hal may want to be in the navy more than I. Yes, it is all right, and Hal must go. But—but—when my father is gone—” and Sam fairly burst out crying. “I didn’t hardly know how different it is with him away till this month. I was such a little fellow when he went to the Black Sea; but now—never mind, though!” and he stamped his foot on the floor. “Papa said it, and it must be. Don’t tell the others, Miss Fosbrook;” and he resolutely went and picked up his Euclid, and began finding the place.
“You will do your duty like a man, wherever you are, Sam,” said Christabel heartily.
Sam looked as if he had rather that she had not said it, but it was comfortable to him for all that; and though she kept further compliments to herself, she could not but think that there was no fear but that he would be a man, in the best sense of the word, before Hal, when she saw him so manfully put his sore grievance out of his head, and turn to the present business of conquering his lesson. Nor did she hear another word from him about his disappointment.
It made her dislike Henry’s boasts more than ever; and she used to cut them short as fast as she could, till the young chatterer decided that she was “cross,” and reserved all his wonderful “at leasts” for his sisters, and his proofs of manliness for the Grevilles.
The Gibraltar man did not come on Saturday; and Miss Fosbrook had been the saving of several stamps by sending some queer little letters in her own to Mrs. Merrifield, so that on Monday morning the hoard was increased to seven-and-sixpence; although between fines and “couldn’t helps,” Henry’s sixpence had melted down to a halfpenny, which “was not worth while.”
On this day arrived a servant from the Park, bringing a delicate little lilac envelope, stamped with a tiny rose, and directed to Miss Merrifield. There was another rose on the top of the lilac paper; and the writing was in a very neat hand.