Mrs. Gates knelt down beside the bed, and prayed for submission to bear what she felt to be a bitter trial—resigning a beloved, affectionate boy to the hardships and chances of a life at sea.
“Mother,” said Ned, as she took the light in her hand to go down stairs, “isn’t Walter Griffin a splendid boy?”
“Yes; too good a boy to go to sea.”
CHAPTER VIII.
MOONLIGHT CONVERSATION BY THE BROOK.
WALTER well deserved the praise lavished upon him by Ned. He had little resemblance to his brother Joe, or indeed any other member of the family, except in size. He was of large frame; Joe had great square jaws, high cheek bones, his hair coarse and bristling, and his joints large,—he was what is termed, in common parlance, double-jointed,—and, though exceeding agile, was loose-limbed, and somewhat awkward in his movements.
Walter, on the other hand, was compactly built, graceful in all his movements; fair complexion, regular features, fine hair, that curled upon the least exertion, and something in the expression of his face that inspired confidence and attracted at once; though full of humor, he possessed not a particle of Joe’s fondness for practical jokes. Every whit as resolute and fond of rough sports as any of his race, he had what none of the rest possessed—imagination and sentiment; he was thoughtful, reflective, and a vein of almost feminine delicacy ran through his whole nature.
All that Joe thought of, when he looked upon a noble maple, was, how much potash it would make, whether a keel-piece could be got out of it; or upon a majestic pine, how many boards it would scale.