Mrs. Gale. Yes: poor folks must remember their station now.
Sept. Ay, mother, that they must. If they are honest and true, loving God and their fellow-men, their station is the proudest and the noblest among mankind: for the hands they raise to heaven bear the proof-marks of their kinship to Nature’s first nobleman, Father Adam; and their hearts are rolls of honor, ever brightened by inscriptions of good works and noble heroism.
Mrs. Gale. Heavens and airth! do hear that boy talk!
Sept. Pray heaven, I may never forget mine,—never forget the kind benefactors who in my helplessness rescued me from the fury of the storm, who took me to their hearts, watched over me in sickness, guided my feet in the path of duty, and made a man of me. It may be as you say,—that I have found a father, one who claims me by right of birth; but my heart beats with no such feeling of love, of reverence, and of duty, towards him, as it does for the honest, true-hearted old fisherman, John Gale (takes John Gale’s hand).
John. God bless you, Sept.! God bless you, boy! I knew you were true as steel; but the old lady—
Mrs. Gale. Now, stop, John Gale! don’t you go to slandering.
Sept. And a mother! where shall I find her? They tell me, that, long ago, she found a grave beneath the wave; but my heart tells me she is here,—here, where my childhood was passed; here among the rocks and sands, where the wild winds roar their loudest and the dark waves beat their fiercest. At the feet of her who first taught me the name of mother, I lay a son’s love and duty, which she, and she alone, has right to claim (kneels at Mrs. Gale’s feet).
Mrs. Gale. O Sept., Sept.! my dear, dear, boy: we thought we were going to lose you now you are rich and high in the world.
Sept. Never fear, mother, never fear. Come what will, this is my home. We have weathered it together when the clouds of adversity gathered thick about, and we’ll share together the sunshine of prosperity which now breaks upon us.
Mrs. Gale. Dear me, dear me! what does ail my glasses? I can’t see. There, I’ve dropped another stitch; and good gracious! where’s my handkercher? I declare, I’ve dropped it somewhere—I never did see such careless— (Exit, L.)