"Well! it gets me," said Shiner. "There haven't been many fights this year that Bobby could have been in. And he's not quarrelsome."
Fred said nothing. He was thinking hard, and from the expression on his face, it was apparent that his thoughts were not of a pleasant nature.
Bobby Blake certainly would have been surprised, had he known how his mates were talking about him. He went on his usual course now-a-days without much thought for the Medal of Honor.
Only, he did his best. For his absent mother's and father's sake, he did his best.
Where were they? The question was with him always. Deadened somewhat by time, the pain of his loss smarted just the same. He seldom mentioned the mystery, even to Fred. Nevertheless, there was at least one time in every day when he remembered it.
He was as earnest in his prayers at night for his parents' safety as ever he had been. He believed that some time he should hear good news.
It is famous that bad news travels quickly, while good news has leaden feet. It was so in this case.
The spring advanced. Mr. and Mrs. Blake had sailed from New York early in September, and nine months had nearly gone since then. The discovery of burned wreckage from the ship on which they had sailed was all the news that had ever come back to the United States regarding it.
There arrived in the port of Baltimore one day a bluff-bowed, frowsy-looking old two-stick schooner, with a tarnished figure-head under her patched bowsprit, dirty sails, and a bottom undoubtedly thick with barnacles.
She was the Ethelina, and she loafed into her dock as though she had never hurried within the knowledge of her owners. One of her owners stood upon her deck and gave orders—Captain Adoniram Speed.