“Are you going to take Big away, sir?” I said.
“No, boy, but I’m going to ask you to be a true mate to him still. He’s going to stay with Mother Bonnet.”
“I will, sir,” I said.
“That you will, my lad,” he cried, shaking hands. “Now, Bigley, no snivelling—be a man! Good-bye! I’ll write.”
He shook hands with his son, seized a bag they had brought down between them, and the next minute he was on board the boat and they disappeared into the darkness.
“How came he back again, Big?” I whispered as we listened to the beat of the oars which came from out of the gloom.
“Doubled back along with the French boat La Belle Hirondelle. They saw her about ten miles away.”
“Was it the Hirondelle we saw last night!” I said.
“Yes,” said Bigley shortly. “Be quiet.”
“I think your father might have said good-bye to me, Bigley Uggleston,” said Bob Chowne shortly. “I’ve done nothing to offend him. But it don’t matter. Never mind.”