Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas - George Manville Fenn

“My boy Nat was a boy,” he said nervously, “not a big six-foot fellow with a gruff voice, and—my dear Dick. Why, then, it is Nat after all.”

The old man hugged me in his arms, and was ready to shed weak tears, for Uncle Dick had followed me and was looking on.

“Why, why, why—what have you been doing to him, Dick?” cried Uncle Joe excitedly. “Here, he can’t be our Nat, and he has got a man’s voice, and he is bigger than me, and he is nearly black. Why, here’s Sophy—Sophy, dear, who’s this?”

I caught her in my arms and kissed her, and she too stared at me in surprise, for I suppose I had altered wonderfully, though in my busy life of travel I had taken little note of the change.

It was very pleasant to settle down once more in quiet and sort our specimens, or tell Uncle Joe of all our dangers by land and sea; but after a time, although Aunt Sophia was now very kind and different to what she had been of old, there came a strong feeling upon me at times that I should once more like to be wandering amidst the beautiful islands of the Eastern Seas, watching the wondrous beauties of the world beneath the shallow waters, or the glorious greens of the trees upon the tropic shores. The boy who loves nature goes on loving nature to the end, for I may say that Uncle Dick spoke the truth when he said that I ought to be called Nat the Naturalist, for I feel that I am Nat the Naturalist still.

“Uncle Dick,” I said one day, “shall we ever have another trip together collecting birds?”

“Time proves all things, my boy,” he said; “wait and see.”