“No pay, when you’ve put a week’s time on it! Why, what do you mean, father?”
Mr. Bertram looked anxiously at his wife as if silently questioning her. She nodded intelligently and withdrew.
“Sit down near me, Will,” said Mr. Bertram, seriously. “I promised to have the figure head done to-day, so I will have to work while I talk. You’re a good boy, Will; a dutiful son and a help and comfort to your old parents, and I don’t feel like clouding your life with our troubles.”
“Don’t worry about that, father,” cried Will, eagerly. “If there are any clouds we’ll drive them away.”
Mr. Bertram smiled at Will’s boyish enthusiasm and said:
“Well, up to two years ago, when your brother Alan sailed away for the far north on a whaling voyage, we were happy and comfortable. I owned the house and lot here and another piece of property, besides having two thousand dollars in bank. This I put together and purchased a share in the Albatross. That was the ship poor Alan was captain of.”
“Yes, I remember,” assented Will murmuringly.
“If the whaling voyage proved a success I should have made enough to buy Alan a ship of his own. Alas, my son, the staunch old Albatross and its brave captain never came back to Watertown again!”
Mr. Bertram stopped his work to wipe away a tear that trickled down his furrowed cheek.
“But one year afterwards,” he finally resumed, “the mate of the doomed ship returned—Stephen Morris. He told a thrilling tale of adventure. The Albatross, he said, had gone far north beyond the icebergs, but had met its fate among the glaciers, and all on board had been crushed in an ice floe but himself.”