“Leave crying to the women, my lad. Now then, what’s the matter?”
The tears started to the boy’s eyes again and he uttered a kind of gasp as he strove to master the desire to sob aloud, and said in a broken voice:
“I’m tired and cold and hungry.”
“Eh? Then why don’t you go home?”
“I have no home now,” said the little fellow, sadly.
“That’s queer agen,” said the sailor, in quite a sympathetic tone now. “You’re a horphan like me, and now you’ve got no home. What, nowhere to go and sleep to-night?”
“No—” said the boy, and the word “sir” nearly slipped out again.
“Why, you’re quite a ship in distress, messmet, and it seems lucky you’ve failed in with me. Hungry and out o’ water, are yer?”
“Very hungry, please,” said the boy; “but I found some water over there, running by the roadside, before it was dark, and I drank some.”
“Ah, that’s why it came out o’ them eyes o’ yourn like a shipped wave out o’ the scuppers. Well, I got a shot or two yet in the locker, so come along o’ me and I’ll get yer something to eat, anyhow. Here, hook on to my fin.”