"You are very kind, ma'am," he said. "I'd like to be such an American as you. I take it you are the best sort, not like them boys on the wharf."
"Those boys are very sorry for their mischief by this time," said Mrs. Robertson. "My own son would gladly do any thing for you. He says he never shall forget what he suffered when he thought you might be drowned in consequence of his folly. But I think he has learned a lesson he will never forget. He has seen how far wrong he might go if he followed his own foolish ways. I trust he will hereafter be a faithful, humble child of God."
"He pulled me out of the water," said Hal warmly. "He's true grit. I'd go to the death for him."
"He will be very glad to have you for a faithful friend," said Mrs. Robertson; "but look, you must not teach him any thing bad, or tempt him to do wrong. He is my only child, and my dearest wish is to see him a noble, pure, Christian man."
"I wont teach him any 'arm as I knows to be 'arm," said Hal, putting out his hand to ratify the bargain.
It was a rough, hard hand, but Mrs. Robertson took it kindly as she answered, "God help you to keep your promise, Hal;" and so their interview closed.
When Monday morning came, Hal Hutchings was up and dressed almost as early as Mrs. Robertson herself. Into the kitchen he walked, hearing the good lady's voice in that direction. "I'm going now," he said, "and I just looked in to bid you good-by."
"Stop and take breakfast with us, wont you, Hal? You shall not go away hungry."
Some crisp cakes of codfish and potatoes were getting the last coat of brown in a frying-pan over the fire, and a huge loaf of Boston "brown bread" was on the table near at hand.
"I wouldn't mind a slice of that bread and one of them cakes, if you would let me sit down here and eat 'em," said Hal.