“That it can never be in my case,” said the carver, gratefully, “for never had man a kinder or more skilful. But I will tell you why I ask. Hugh’s encounter has put into my mind the thought that we might go to Dartmouth by ship.”
“The saints forbid!” said the friar, rapidly crossing himself. “You must be mad to think of it, Master Bassett.”
“Nay, but why?”
“The dangers, the discomforts!—shoals, rocks, pirates!”
“Dangers there are in all journeys. The discomforts will no doubt be great, but put on the other side the fatigue you warn me against.”
“You should not go at all,” said Friar Luke. “Remain here where you can be cared for. Hugh shall be a serving-boy, and take the habit when he is old enough.”
“Wilt thou, Hugh?” demanded his father.
A vehement shake of the head was his answer.
“Nay, holy friar,” said Bassett, with a smile; “I am bending the twig so far that the strain is great, but your proposal, I fear, would snap it altogether. But about our voyage. I am greatly inclined to Hugh’s new friend. When does he sail?”
“In a week,” said the boy, with some reluctance. He had not liked the voyage from Flanders, and this promised to be worse. Still he felt it incumbent upon him to show no fear.