“I want to go to sea.”
Fred more than liked Walter: he loved him; he was a splendid boy, industrious, trustworthy, and smart; but his wrist-joints were three inches below the sleeve of his jacket, for his mother couldn’t make clothes as fast as he grew.
“Why, Walter, I didn’t dream of your ever leaving me. I want you, when you are older, to go into business with me. Don’t you like me?”
The tears came into the boy’s eyes in a moment.
“Like you, Mr. Williams! My own father ain’t nearer to me: you’ve done everything for me; but, Mr. Williams, I never was made to weigh flour, measure molasses and cloth; it don’t agree with our kind of people. I can’t stand it; I shall die: indeed I can’t.”
“But you wouldn’t leave me now, when I have so much to do?”
“Not by any means, sir. I don’t want to go till the big ship is done.”
“I think you’ll miss it, Walter.”
“I don’t, sir. I don’t see why I can’t do as well at sea as Isaac Murch. I’ll leave it to Uncle Isaac.”
“Uncle Isaac, he’s always ready to shove any boy ahead.”