Sir Harry raised his son, kissed him, set him on his own chair, and retired into an inner cabin.
A knock came to the door. Clare said, “Come in.” The quartermaster entered. Instead of sir Harry, he saw the miserable stowaway, seated in the captain’s own chair. He swore at him, and ordered him out, prepared to give him a kick as he passed.
“Out with you!” he cried. “Go for’ard. Tell the bo’s’n to look out a rope’s end. I’ll be after you.”
“The captain told me to sit here,” answered Clare, and sat.
The officer looked closer at him, begged his pardon, saluted, and withdrew.
The father heard, and said to himself, “The boy is a gentleman: he knows where to take his orders.”
He called him into the inner cabin, and there washed him from head to foot, rejoicing to find under his rags a skin as clean as his own.
“Now what are we to do for clothes, Clare?” said sir Harry.
“Perhaps somebody would lend me some,” answered Clare. “Mayn’t I be your cabin-boy, father? You will let me be a sailor, won’t you, and sail always with you?”
“You shall be a sailor, my boy,” answered sir Harry, “and sail with me as long as God pleases. You know to obey orders!”