“I hope that was in earnest, Tom,” said Bramble, fixing his eye upon me inquiringly, “otherwise it was cruel.”
“It was indeed, father,” replied I, taking him by the hand.
“Then all’s right, and God bless you, my dear good boy. You don’t know how happy you have made me—yes, and now I will say it—poor Bessy also.”
Chapter Forty Seven.
In which a new character appears upon the stage, and I play the part of a pilot on shore.
“A frigate has anchored in the Downs, Tom, and makes the signal for a pilot,” said Bramble, coming into the cottage, with my telescope in his hand. “There is but you and I here—what do you say?—will you venture to take her up to the Medway?”
“To be sure I will, father; I would not refuse a line-of-battle ship. Why should I? the tides are the same, and the sands have not shifted. Would you not trust me?”
“Ay, that I would, Tom, and perhaps better than myself; for my eyes are not so good as they were. Well, then, you had better be off.”