“Tom has a head, indeed,” said young Tom, “but as he has no wish to have it broken, Jacob, lend me your wherry for half-an-hour, and I’ll be off.”
I assented, and Tom, first tossing the cat upon his mother’s back, made his escape, crying:
“Lord, Molly, what a fish—”
as the animal fixed in its claws to save herself from falling, making Mrs Beazeley roar out and vow vengeance, while old Tom and I could not refrain from laughter.
After Tom’s departure the conversation was renewed, and everything was finally arranged between old Tom and his wife, except the building of the wherry, at which the old woman shook her head. The debate would be too long, and not sufficiently interesting to detail; one part, however, I must make the reader acquainted with. After entering into all the arrangements of the house, Mrs Beazeley took me upstairs to show me the rooms, which were very neat and clean. I came down with her, and old Tom said, “Did the old woman show you the room with the white curtains, Jacob?”
“Yes,” replied I, “and a very nice one it is.”
“Well, Jacob, there’s nothing sure in this world. You’re well off at present, and ‘leave well alone’ is a good motto; but recollect this, that room is for you when you want it, and everything else we can share with you. It’s offered freely, and you will accept it the same. Is it not, old lady?”
“Yes, that it is, Jacob; but may you do better—if not, I’ll be your mother for want of a better.”
I was moved with the kindness of the old couple; the more so as I did not know what I had done to deserve it. Old Tom gave me a hearty squeeze of the hand, and then continued—“But about this wherry—what do you say, old woman?”
“What will it cost?” replied she, gravely.