Franklin Gray gazed in his face for a moment or two, then looked up to the sky with a sort of half smile. "It would be better," he answered, at length; "it would be better, and my passage is even taken in a ship which is to sail, I think, in two days. But what am I to do with the child?"
"Oh, I will provide means for its joining you," replied Langford: "it shall be well taken care of."
"I have got a little boat, too, down there," said Gray, in a rambling manner, "which would carry me to the ship in no time."
Langford looked at the boy Jocelyn with an inquiring glance; but the youth shook his head, murmuring, in a scarcely audible tone, "There is no boat."
Franklin Gray was evidently occupied with other thoughts. He put his hand again to his head, and then, turning to Henry Langford, he said, "Henry, we are old companions, and I will take you at your word. Promise me, as a man and a soldier, that this babe shall be well taken care of till he joins me. It is a sweet creature, and seldom, if ever, cries. You will use it as your own, Henry, in every respect as your own?"
"I will, indeed," replied Langford; "I will, indeed; but let us think now how you can best be got off to the vessel."
But Franklin Gray went on thus:--"And poor Jocelyn, too," he said, laying his hand upon the boy's head; "you will be kind to him, and breed him as a soldier?"
"He had better go with you, Franklin," replied Langford.
"No," answered Franklin Gray, "No; I shall be better alone;" and at the same time the boy whispered to Langford, "Humour him; humour him. I will find means to follow him closely."
"Will you promise that, too?" demanded Franklin Gray, but instantly went on without waiting a reply--"Then the baby, too, Henry; you will be very kind to it, and tender, and love it very much? See, it smiles at you. Take it in your arms."