It was arranged that all poor Tom's pay and prize money should be placed in the Deal Bank until such time as the boy came of age, or it was wanted to start him in the world; and that, added to the money already there in his late mother's name, would form a very handsome sum by the time it would be required.
Before parting with the old folks, Jerry—without implying any reproach—asked them plainly why they did not write Tom about his wife's death? when they informed him that, fearing the blow would kill him, and that he would never see his child, they had enlisted the sympathy of a young girl who lived near, and all poor Tom's letters had been answered by her—always endeavoring to avoid positively false statements.
Thompson could not openly blame them, as they had evidently committed the error with a good intention; and after saying he was sorry they hadn't written him about it, bade them good-bye, and taking little Tom by the hand, led him away.
The child's parting with his relatives was of course a trial on both sides; but when he and Jerry were clear of the cottage, and seated in a conveyance on their way to Deal, the little fellow soon dried his tears, and by the time they arrived at their journey's end, had taken to his new protector most contentedly.
Having seen a lawyer, and settled the necessary business in connection with the property belonging to poor Clare, Thompson proceeded to an inn, and early the next morning hired a conveyance, by which he reached his native place about noon. Everybody seemed to expect him, and his progress from the entrance of the village to his mother's cottage was one continued ovation.
"Here's Jerry Thompson come back," giggled a girl, who, standing at the top of the garden steps, was shouting to her mother in the potato patch.
"Hallo, Jerry," roared a farm labourer, who had known the sailor at school, but who, save by the uniform, could not have recognized his old playfellow.
"Glad to see ye, master," cried the old men.
"Service to ye, Jerry," squeaked the old women, who were somewhat dazzled with the uniform, and didn't know whether to be polite or familiar.
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" screamed the children; and the ducks and geese flapped their wings, and scuttled about as if joining in the acclamation; and when Thompson arrived opposite Trotman's Charity, a saucy bantam, which had perched itself on the gate, tried to crow out a welcome. Ere it had fairly commenced it was swung off its legs by an apple-faced little girl, who, regardless of chanticleer, opened the gate with a vigorous swing, stood against it to keep it in its place, and with smiling, upturned face bobbed a courtsy to "Squire Jerry," she imagining that Mr. Thompson could not be less, as he came in a carriage, and everybody hurrahed.