The blue, the fresh, the ever-free!”
“I mean to be a sailor,” said Oscar, when the singing ended. Silence reigned on the old Tor, save for the blustering wind, which played havoc with the girls’ hair, and clutched at all their hats.
“Oh, Oscar! and uncle intends you to be a farmer!” cried Inna, her tongue running away with her better judgment, which would have whispered her to think twice before she spoke once. But her heart was stirred with pity for Oscar, and for her uncle, knowing what Mrs. Grant had said about the boy’s future.
[p81]
“And so Mother Peggy has been whispering that into your ear,” was the scoffing reply.
“Mrs. Grant told me so; but I don’t know that there was any whispering about it,” returned the little girl.
“Well, she told you what’ll never be. I mean to be a sailor, so there!”
“To be a farmer is no bad berth,” said sensible Dick.
“Oh yes, for them who take to it; but that’s not I. I mean to be a sailor, like my father before me.”
“Oh! but, Oscar, what will uncle say?” cried Inna.
“Oh, he’ll get over it. Every boy has a right to choose his own profession, and he knows it.”