“Look out for Jacob, Tom,” cried the old man, as the head of the lighter, with her mast lowered down, made its appearance through the arch of Putney Bridge, with bright blue streaks on her sides.
“Here he is, father,” replied Tom, who was standing forward by the windlass, with the fall in his hand.
I had shoved off, on hearing old Tom’s voice, and was alongside almost as soon as the lighter had passed under the bridge, and discovered old Tom at the helm. I sprang on the deck, with the chain-painter of the wherry in my hand, made it fast, and went aft to old Tom, who seized my hand.
“This is as it should be, my boy, both on the look-out for each other. The heart warms when we know the feeling is on both sides. You’re seldom out of our thoughts, boy, and always in our hearts. Now, jump forward, for Tom’s fretting to greet you, I see, and you may just as well help him to sway up the mast when you are there.”
I went forward, shook hands with Tom, and then clapped on the fall, and assisted him to hoist the mast. We then went aft to his father and communicated everything of interest which had passed since our last meeting at the house of old Stapleton.
“And how’s Mary?” inquired Tom; “she’s a very fine lass, and I’ve thought of her more than once; but I saw that all you said about her was true. How she did flam the poor old Dominie!”
“I have had a few words with her about it, and she has promised to be wiser,” replied I; “but as her father says, ‘in her it’s human natur’.’”
“She’s a fine craft,” observed old Tom, “and they always be a little ticklish. But, Jacob, you’ve had some inquiries made after you, and by the women, too.”
“Indeed!” replied I.
“Yes; and I have had the honour of being sent for into the parlour. Do you guess now?”