In which the Wheel of Fortune brings our Hero’s Nose to a Grindstone.
When Nancy and our hero had proceeded about three miles on their way, Nancy slackened her pace, and they entered into conversation.
“Which way are you going?” demanded Joey.
“I’m cutting right across the country, Peter, or rather Joey, as I shall in future call you, for that is your real name—the marine told me it was Joseph Rushbrook; is it not?”
“Yes, it is,” replied Joey.
“Then in future I shall call you so, for I do not want to hear even a name which would remind me of the scene of my misery; and Joey, do you never call me Nancy again, the name is odious to me; call me Mary.”
“I will if you wish it; but I cannot imagine why you should run away from Gravesend, Mary. What do you mean to do? I ran away from fear of being taken up.”
“And I, Joey, do more; I fly from the wrath to come. You ask me what I intend to do; I will answer you in the words of the catechism which I used once to repeat, ‘to lead a new life, have a thankful remembrance of Christ’s death, and be in charity with all men.’ I shall seek for service; I care not how humble—it will be good enough. I will sift cinders for brick-making, make bricks, do anything, as long as what I do is honest.”
“I am very glad to hear you say that, Mary,” replied Joey, “for I was always very fond of you.”
“Yes, Joey, and you were the first who offered to do a kind thing for me for a long while; I have never forgotten it, and this night I have done something to repay it.”