“Yes. That you, little messmet? Hooroar! Give’s your fin.”
“Promise me you won’t send me home, Jack, and I will.”
“Send you home, messmet!” growled the rough sailor,
whose voice trembled with emotion. “Why, o’ course I won’t! You’re to stay aboard, and be a powder monkey. My word! Your hands are like ice! Where have you been all day?”
“Down in the dark, and it was so cold,” said the little fellow, shivering. “But you won’t send me back, Jack? I can’t—I can’t go.”
“Send yer back? Not me!” growled the sailor. “On’y too glad to get yer again. Don’t I tell yer that you’re one o’ the King’s men now, and are going to stop? My word, you are cold! Here, heave ho! That’s got you! You snuggle up here alongside me. King’s man! Why, you’re not much bigger than a frog, and just as cold. My hammock feel warm?”
“Oh, so warm—so warm, Jack!” came in a whisper, as two little hands were passed round the rough fellow’s neck.
“That’s right, little un. But are you hungry?”
“No, not very; only cold and tired, Jack. But I don’t mind now you’re not going to send me home. Oh, Jack, I do feel so happy and comfortable!”