“Tell mother I’m all right, and that I shan’t have to go to prison, and that I’ll get some one to tell her how I’m getting on now and then. She’s a good one is mother, that she is.”
“I’ll tell her you have given up all smuggling, and that you are going to be a good sailor now.”
“Yes, do, please—sir. She hates the smuggling, and used to beg father not, but he would do it. And I say, are you going up to the Hoze?”
“Yes; we shall search the farm and the Hoze too.”
“Won’t find nothing at the farm. Father never had nothing there, not even a keg. And you won’t find nothing at the Hoze.”
“Not in the cellar?”
“No,” said Ram frankly.
“How long has that Sir Risdon Graeme been a smuggler?”
“Him? Never was one, poor old chap, only father good as made him lend us his cellar, because it was nice and handy, and nobody would think of going and searching there. Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Ram, showing his white teeth; “you people went up there one day and touched your hats to Sir Risdon, and were afraid to go close up to the house, when all the time the cellar was choke full.”
“I remember,” said the midshipman; “and I found it out. But look here, Ram, how could your father make Sir Risdon, who is a gentleman, lend him the cellar?”