“No, my boy; he has gone, and you will not see him again.”
“Ah,” cried Phil; “and have you come to fetch me home?”
“My darling, yes,” cried the visitor, and as the boy sprang to her arms again she held him tightly to her breast and turned proudly upon the lieutenant. “Now, sir,” she cried, “do you think he will be ill-used?”
“I am satisfied, madam,” said the officer, smiling. “So, then, we are to lose our little powder monkey? You are going away, then, sir?”
“Yes,” cried the boy, eagerly; “along with Auntie. No,” he cried, excitedly—“no! I can’t go and leave poor Jack. Auntie, dear, oh, he has been so good to me, you don’t know. No, I can’t come away now. Besides, they wouldn’t let me come. I’m a sailor, serving the King. But I’ll come sometimes and see you.”
“O, Phil, my darling!” sobbed his aunt.
“You don’t know what he has done for me. No, Jack, I won’t go away now you’re so weak and ill.”
“Weak—ill—with wounds?” cried Phil’s aunt eagerly, as she turned to the lieutenant.
“Yes, madam; one of our brave seamen, badly wounded at Trafalgar.”
“But ought he not to be ashore where he could be properly nursed?” cried Phil’s aunt.