The house of Philip Bramble was situated on the farther side of a road which ran along the shore, just above the shingle beach. It was a large cottage on one floor, the street door entering at once into its only sitting-room. It was furnished as such tenements usually are, with a small dresser and shelves for crockery, and a table and chairs of cherry wood; on the broad mantelpiece, for the fireplace was large, were several brass candlesticks, very bright, ranged with foreign curiosities, and a few shells; half a dozen prints in frames ornamented the walls; and on large nails drove into the panels, wherever a space could be found, were hung coats, P-jackets, and other articles of dress, all ready for the pilot to change whenever he came on shore wet to the skin. Everything was neat and clean; the planks of the floor were white as snow, yet the floor itself was sanded with white sand, and there were one or two square wooden boxes, also filled with sand, for the use of those who smoked. When I add that, opposite to the fireplace, there was a set of drawers of walnut wood, with an escritoire at the top, upon the flat part of which were a few books neatly arranged, and over it an old fashioned looking-glass, divided at the sides near to the frame into sections, I believe that I have given a catalogue of the whole furniture. When I followed Bramble into the room, a little girl of about nine or ten years old ran into his arms, as he stooped down to receive her. She was a pretty child, with a very fair skin and rosy cheeks, her hair and eyes of a very dark brown, almost approaching to black; but she was not, in my opinion, near so pretty as my sister Virginia. As Bramble kissed her, she exclaimed, “Oh, father, I am so glad you are come home! Mrs Maddox has been in bed ever since you left; her leg is very bad indeed.”
“Whew!” whistled, Bramble, “I’m sorry to hear that of the old lady; and how have you got on without her assistance?”
“Why, don’t you think I’m very tidy, father?” said she, looking round the room.
“Yes, Bessy, you are very tidy; and it’s a pleasure to come home to a tidy clean house. Here is a companion for you. I told you he was coming, and you know his name.”
“It’s Tom Saunders, isn’t it, father?”
“Yes, that’s his name, for want of a better—so I leave you to make friends, while I go up and see the poor old lady.”
“You look cold and pale, are you not well?” was the first question of little Bessy.
“I’m cold, and not very well,” replied I; “I have not been used to knocking about on board ship.”
“Very true; I forgot you had never been at sea before. Come to the fire, then, and sit in father’s big chair.”
“I never knew that your father had been married. I thought Peter Anderson said that he was a bachelor.”