“Hurrah! Bravo, Harry, my lad. I’ve often grumbled; but I avow it—I am past service, gouty as I am; but you were never more seaworthy.”
“Uncle, why don’t you speak?” cried Sydney, excitedly. “Has father got a ship?”
“Got a ship, my lad? He’s appointed to one of the smartest in the navy—the Sirius frigate, and she’s ordered abroad.”
Captain Belton drew himself up, and his eyes flashed as in imagination he saw himself treading once more the quarter-deck of a smart ship.
“It’s too good to believe,” he muttered—“too good to believe.”
“You haven’t read the letter,” said his brother, looking wistfully across to the tall, eager-looking man before him.
“No,” said Captain Belton. “Hah! from Claudene,”—and he read aloud:—
“My dear Belton, I have managed this for you, and I’m very glad, for you will do us credit. The appointment will clear away the difficulty about your boy, for you can have him in your own ship, and keep the young dog under your eye. My good wishes to you, and kind regards to your brother. Tell him I wish I could serve him as well, but I can’t see my way.”
“Of course he can’t,” said the old admiral, quickly. “No; I’m too old and gouty now. But as for you, you dog, why don’t you stand on your head, or shout, or something? Here, I am well enough to go up to town after all. Syd and I are going to see about his uniform. The Sirius—well, you two have luck at last. Here, hi! you, sir! Put down that confounded birch-broom, and come here.”
Uncle Tom had caught sight of Barney at the bottom of the lawn sweeping leaves into a heap for his son to lift them between two boards into the waiting barrow.