“Is the ship’s head done, father?” its possessor asked eagerly, with a glance at the work bench.
“Almost, Will. Where have you been, and what does that mean?”
The boy’s eyes danced with delight and his face flushed excitedly as he laid several small silver coins on the bench.
“It means money, father,” he cried; “it means that I heard you tell mother this morning that there was not enough in the house to buy a pound of flour, and I made up my mind to earn some. Look, father, nearly four shillings!”
The old man’s eyes were suffused with tears as the boy rattled on volubly, and something choked in his voice as he sought to murmur, “My brave boy!”
“You know I’m old enough to begin work, father, and I know it too. There is not much chance for employment in the town, though, unless it’s among the shipping, and you won’t hear of my going to sea.”
“No, no!”
“Not even when the old tars say I’m a natural sailor and nimble as a monkey among the rigging?”
“Not even then, Will. The sea cost me one brave son. I can’t spare the other.”
“Well, I remembered that, and went among the shops. No work anywhere. Finally I came to the new building they are putting up on the public square, and there I met my luck, as the boys say.”