“There, I’m your man—I mean I’m your boy,” cried Bob; “and I’ll let you see that I’m a very different fellow to what you think. Now I want to go and see poor old Tom Long. I am sorry he’s hurt.”
“You are now more like the Bob Roberts, midshipman,” said Miss Linton, “whom I saw first some months ago, than I have seen for a long time.”
“All right,” said Bob; “now let’s go and see the other poor boy.”
“Come along, then,” she said, smiling; “but I’m afraid that Tom Long will not be so easy to convince that he has not yet arrived at years of discretion.”
As she spoke Miss Linton softly opened the door unseen, and let Bob Roberts enter a cool and airy well-shaded room, closing the door upon him, and herself gliding away.
Chapter Twelve.
A Discussion upon Wounds.
“Avast there! what cheer, my hearty? Heave ahead, my military swab. How goes it!” cried Bob, as Tom raised himself a little on his couch, evidently very glad to see his old companion.