The man’s tone was so friendly, and he held out his hand in such a kindly way, that the little fellow caught at it eagerly, and with the darkness thickening fast, began to trot beside his new friend as he strode off, but only to totter breathlessly at the end of a few minutes and then stumble, ready to fall but for the strong arm which dragged him up.
“Why, hillo!” cried the man. “What’s this here?”
“I—I don’t know,” said the boy, feebly. “I’m so tired—and my feet hurt—and—and—and I can’t go any farther, please. Don’t be cross with me, sir; I can’t help it—I’m obliged to cry.”
His legs sank beneath him as he spoke and doubled so that he naturally came down upon his knees, and raising the hand that was not held, to join the other, the boy seemed in the gloom to be praying for mercy to the big, rough man.
“Why, matey, I didn’t know you were on your beam ends like this here,” he growled, softly. “Here, I’ll help yer. Let me lift yer on to this ’ere bank. That’s the way. Steady, now, while I turn round. Give’s t’other fin. There you are. Heave ho! and you’re up and on my back. Now, then, I’ll tow you into port where I’m going, and you an’ me’ll have a bit o’ supper together, and after that—well, look at that now!”
As he spoke the sailor had got the boy up on his shoulders, pig-a-back fashion, and began to tramp steadily along the road, not feeling the light weight, and talking pleasantly to the little fellow all the while, till, in his surprise, he uttered the last words in a low tone, and followed them up by exclaiming:
“Tired out, poor bairn. I’m blessed if he ain’t fast asleep!”
The sailor stood in the middle of the road thinking and talking aloud to himself as if he were someone else.
“This here’s a pretty set-out, Jack Jeens,” he growled softly, so as not to awaken his load. “Here you are, my lad, just finished your holiday, spent half your arnings along with your
