He left his uncle—a younger brother of his mother—and his father one evening talking in the dining-room. He had bidden them good-night and glided away upstairs to bed. He was partially undressed before he noticed that he had left a favourite book down in the library.
So he stole silently down to fetch it.
He had to pass the dining-room door, and in doing so the mention of his own name caused him to pause and listen.
Listeners, they say, seldom hear any good about themselves. Perhaps not, but the following is what Harry heard:
“Ha!” laughed Uncle Robert, “I tell you, brother, I’d do it. That would take the fun out of him. That would knock all notions of a sailor’s life out of the lad. It has been done before, and most successfully too, I can tell you.”
“And,” replied Harry’s father, “you would really advise me to—”
“I would really advise you to do as I say,” said uncle, interrupting his brother-in-law. “I’d send him to sea for a voyage in a whaler. They sail in February, and they return in May—barely three months, you see.”
“Indeed, then I do think I’ll take your advice. But his mother loves the dear, brave boy so, that I’m sure she’ll feel the parting very much.”
“Well, well, my sister’ll soon get over that.”
Harry stayed to hear no more. He went back to his room without the book, and, instead of going to bed, lay down upon his sofa with the intention of what he called “doing a good think.”