“Your son, Mr. Bell,” said the captain, “is well to do; able to provide you with every comfort; and, what is more, respected and beloved.”
“And he owns land?”
“Yes; six hundred acres.”
“That seems like a dream to me, for none of our folks ever owned a foot of land. I always loved the earth, and loved to work on it, even when it was the freehold of another. I feel there may yet be some happiness in store for me.”
“You are not an old man yet, Mr. Bell,” said the captain, “and good news and good spirits will make you ten years younger; so bring all your things on board, and prepare to go with us, the first gale that scatters the blockaders.”
“I don’t suppose there is any doubt now. I know there can’t be. Still, you know a person in my situation feels they can’t be too certain; and there is just one thing more that has come to mind since I was here. I would like to ask of this young man whether he ever noticed any scar on my son’s face.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Walter; “it is on his right jaw, and close to his ear,—runs up behind the ear, into his hair.”
“Then I’ll indulge no more in doubt. It would be ungrateful. I never shall forget when he received the cut that made that scar, it frightened me so. Though it was long ago, it seems but the other day.”
“How did it happen, Mr. Bell?” asked Walter.
“I suppose you never saw any basket rods growing?”